


Ransoming Emrys

by Emachinescat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Emrys Revealed, Friendship, Gen, Magic Revealed, Powerful Merlin, Protective Arthur, Protective Merlin, Season/Series 03, Suspense, Torture, Violence, Whump, emrys - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-11
Updated: 2011-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 69,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur isn't the only one that people will pay handsomely for. A band of renegade druids that know how much the legendary "Emrys" is worth has decided to auction him off to the highest bidder. How far will Arthur and his friends go to get him back, especially Merlin's secret is revealed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own Merlin, for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Arthur Pendragon was  _not_  in a good mood. He and his servant, Merlin, had been in the forest hunting all morning and part of the afternoon and had caught  _nothing_. It was a sweltering summer day. The sun bore down upon the land of Camelot with a vengeance, as if trying to make up for the week of rain that preceded it in the muggy spring that had just taken its leave. Why Arthur had decided to hunt on this particular day was beyond Merlin who was positively  _miserable_. The skinny, dark haired servant detested hunting on a normal day but the heat made it even more unbearable. From the looks of things,  _Arthur_  wasn't too pleased, either.

All the animals – from the largest stag to the smallest ant, it seemed – had been the smart ones and had hidden away from the heat in their burrows, dens, or whatever they lived in. They had scarcely seen another form of life all day so Arthur hadn't gotten to kill anything – this tended to put him in a bit of a bad mood. Merlin still wasn't sure how killing things (especially cute, fluffy things) could bring such joy to his master but he had long since accepted it since it was the only thing he  _could_  do. Every time he complained about hunting, Arthur shot him a withering look and called him a girl, a petticoat, or – his latest favorite – a  _girl's petticoat_.

Merlin snorted quietly as he stumbled along through the woods after his irritable master. Arthur thought he was _so_  clever but he couldn't come up with a cleverer insult than "girl's petticoat" which was just a combination of two of his other lame nicknames for his servant. Now, dollop head, Merlin mused, a small smirk touching the corners of his full lips,  _that_  was a clever insult.

Arthur had turned to speak to Merlin – or, more likely than not, to berate him for making noise and scaring the prey away even though it was obvious it was because of the raging heat that the beasts were not out and about – and saw the mischievous grin. Stopping abruptly, causing Merlin to barely avoid running straight into him, Arthur demanded in the haughty voice that only a Pendragon could muster, " _What_ ,  _Mer_ lin, are you grinning about?" He crossed his arms over his well-muscled chest and fixed Merlin with "the look" – a patronizing stare that had most weathered knights stammering incoherently but only served to deepen Merlin's grin.

It never ceased to amaze Arthur how his idiot of a servant could be so… so… brave – more stupid, though, if you asked him – to constantly stand up and challenge his prince. Although, Arthur had to admit, if only to himself, it  _did_  make life more interesting and he had grown quite fond of Merlin's prattle and jibes over the past two years. Merlin chuckled, "Just… thinking."

Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Oh, no," he joked, his eyes twinkling. "This can't end well."

Merlin pouted but quickly chippered back up and hastened to catch up with Arthur, who was stalking through the trees again. Merlin hoped that Arthur would get the hint that the animals just weren't going to make an appearance today. They'd be lucky if they caught a snail at this rate. Arthur was still heading deeper into the forest, obviously under the false impression that the deeper into the trees the more life would be stirring and Merlin was obligated to follow, no matter how begrudgingly. He and Arthur were both soaked with sweat and the tree boughs provided little if any protection from the rays of the sun so they both were a bit burnt.

This was the kind of summer day that any  _sane_  person would spend inside, wearing as little clothing as was socially acceptable and doing absolutely nothing. But, of course, the prince had decided that today was a wonderful thing to trudge around lugging a crossbow and an assortment of other weapons (all of which Merlin had to carry) and shoot at nonexistent prey. Merlin had decided to get revenge for the miserable excursion in the only way he could – annoying Arthur. And… maybe a few random tree roots had decided to shift position just enough to make Arthur stumble after he had yelled at Merlin for scaring off the animals that weren't even there…

Catching up with Arthur, barely stopping himself from tripping over a root himself, Merlin asked, "So… aren't you going to ask what I'm thinking about?"

Arthur cast Merlin a weary glance and responded flatly. "No."

Merlin pushed on anyway as Arthur stalked deeper into the trees. "Come on, you're not just a  _little_  curious?"

Arthur didn't even look back. "Merlin, I don't have even the most obscure desire to know what goes on in your mind."

Merlin pretended to be offended. "Why not? I probably think more intelligent thoughts than you do!"

Arthur rounded on Merlin, his eyes flashing but not angry. He, too, whether he would admit it or not, was enjoying the banter. It distracted him from the burning heat and the realization that Merlin had probably been right in saying that today wasn't the best day to go hunting, at any rate. "You,  _Mer_ lin, are an idiot. Your thoughts are probably all about, I don't know… butterflies and dandelions or something equally as girlish and  _stupid_."

Merlin laughed, feeling better already. "Don't try to pin your own inner thoughts on me, Sire – Gaius says that's called projecting and it's a way of making yourself feel better about your own problems and insecurities."

Arthur stared at him for a few seconds before reminding his servant in a dark voice, "You know,  _Mer_ lin, you haven't paid a visit to the stocks in a while. I bet they're missing you."

Merlin's eyes went wide and he gulped melodramatically before rolling his eyes and walking ahead, this time overtaking Arthur's pace and calling over his shoulder at the flabbergasted prince, "I think it's worth the risk – it's always wonderful to see steam come out of your ears."

Arthur grumbled something under his breath about incompetent, idiotic, and disrespectful buffoons for servants and probably would have added a few insults to Merlin's ego had an arrow not sliced through the air and embedded itself in a tree right next to the servant who was walking a few feet ahead of his master. Immediately Arthur's senses went on alert and he stopped, hissing for Merlin to do the same despite the fact that Merlin had frozen the second the arrow had barely missed his head.

Arthur glanced around, seeing no one that could have fired the weapon and exchanged a confused and wary look with his servant before Merlin's eyes went wide and he shouted, "Arthur!"

Arthur heard the snap of the twig seconds after Merlin's warning but didn't have time to turn and face the threat before a hand snaked around his neck and a knife was pressed into his throat. He cursed himself silently at not realizing that whoever had shot the arrow had companions that would have sneaked around and circled Arthur and Merlin. More men slid out of the trees, all of them dressed like bandits but presenting themselves with a more distinguished air that Arthur couldn't figure out – maybe it was something in their eyes? – and congregated around Arthur, gripping his arms tightly even as he struggled. There had to be at least fifteen in all. He halted when the knife bit into his neck and drew blood and he saw Merlin start forward.

"No, Merlin,  _stay_!" he ordered, like a man talking to his dog. Merlin didn't look wounded in the slightest by the tone but even if he had, Arthur had more important things to worry about – like the fact that the men were wrenching his arms behind his back and wrapping leather strips around his wrists. The dagger was still digging into his throat and Arthur could feel blood trickling from the artificial wound.

"Best listen to your master, boy," a soft, powerful voice drawled easily from the shadows. Arthur winced as sweat seeped into the cut, mixing with blood. The sun still bore down on them, indifferent to the desperate situation prince and servant were now in, even as Arthur was pushed to his knees by the thugs and two of the men strode over to Merlin and gripped his forearms firmly, holding him in place. Arthur cursed silently. He had been hoping that they would have not been interested in Merlin and that the servant could have slipped away. "Else there won't be a prince to wear the crown, eh?"

Merlin growled and tried to wrench his arms from the men's grasp with no avail. Arthur glared at him before looking at the new arrival, a tall, thin man with brown hair sprinkled with gray and a strong jaw sporting at least a day's stubble. Intelligent blue eyes – almost white they were so light – sparkled beneath pale lashes. He wore tattered pale yellow robes tied with an orange sash and no shoes on his feet. His skin was weathered, leathery, even though he couldn't be much older than thirty. The ghosts of crow's feet and smile lines spread from under his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Even if he had once smiled a great deal, now it seemed as if the only time he grinned was when he was smirking, the way he was presently.

"Who are you?" Arthur demanded while Merlin looked on with wide eyes.

The man didn't answer at first; instead, he motioned for his men to bring Merlin forward until he was only a few feet away from his master. Arthur could swear that there was some sort of internal battle going on in his servant's eyes. It looked as if Merlin were trying to come to a difficult decision as he directly avoided his master's eyes. The leader walked forward, standing just over Merlin's left shoulder, and placed a skinny but apparently strong hand on his shoulders. His eyes locked on Arthur's even as he raised his hand and hissed, " _Roi'r gorau iddi symud,_ " his blue eyes flashing gold.

A strange sensation spread through Arthur's body as the men holding him let go and the knife disappeared from his neck. Arthur tried to move but to no avail – it seemed only his facial muscles were at his disposal now. Magic. "You're sorcerers," the prince accused, straining to move even his little finger but he may as well be trying push a mountain. It was useless.

He saw Merlin start to struggle once more now that Arthur wasn't in any immediate danger of having his throat slit but the leader snapped, "I wouldn't if I were you,  _Emrys_. You're surrounded on all sides and I can kill your precious prince with one word." He paused. "I used to be a devout druid – you know I have that power."

Merlin stopped struggling and his face grew solemn, even resigned. Arthur, for one, was confused. Why had the magician called Merlin  _Emrys_? Deciding that was something to address later, Arthur announced in an authoratative voice, "You have me. Let my servant go; he's useless to you."

The men holding Merlin tightened and readjusted their grip on his arms as the leader chuckled and one of his hands shot forward even as Arthur shouted out a warning, grasping Merlin by the jaw with one hand and stepping even closer to the servant, forcing his head back until it was resting on the taller man's shoulder. Arthur saw Merlin tense and his everpresent neckerchief move as the Adam's apple bobbed nervously underneath it when Merlin swallowed.

"Oh, but you misunderstand me, Prince Arthur. This has nothing to do with you. We came for one thing and one thing only – as soon as we're gone, you'll be free to go. We don't want your father pursuing us for taking his son, now do we?"

Arthur's eyes widened and met Merlin's fearful ones as the truth sunk in. This was not about Arthur. These man did not care that he was the prince.

They were here for Merlin.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew that it was not good.

He could feel the leader's calloused hand on his face, gripping his jaw tightly. His neck was open and vulnerable, bared save for the thin neckerchief tied around it that would offer no protection whatsoever. His head rested on the man's shoulder – not voluntarily – and he struggled vainly, trying to break free, to lift his head up. The man behind him grabbed a handful of Merlin's hair in his other hand and yanked it, effectively stilling Merlin's struggling and causing him to gasp in pain. Merlin could see Arthur a few feet away, still kneeling on the grass with hands tied behind him, frozen in place by magic.

Arthur's eyes were livid, raging pools of angry blue fire as he glared at the man who had Merlin captive. Now that he was defenseless, the other fifteen or so men that had helped subdue him were milling about the small clearing, about half of them standing in a small circle around Arthur, Merlin, and the former druid. A few others were unpacking a leather bag – taking out a long coil of rope, a glass vial filled with a sickly green liquid, and several strips of cloth. They did all this behind the leader and Merlin so that Arthur could see exactly what they were taking out of the bag and he did  _not_  like the looks of it.

Merlin's magic was frothing frantically inside of him, wrestling with his will to keep it in check. Merlin gritted his teeth, trying to keep control of his powers that were trying to spring to his aid. He knew he could do nothing right now. These men, whoever they were, were powerful. Every single one of them possessed some degree of magic – Merlin could sense it. Some barely contained enough to make a pebble float, but at least five of them had impressive amounts of power and the leader was no exception. He was dangerous, powerful, and deadly and would surely kill Arthur if Merlin stepped out of line.

He wondered what these people wanted with him. They obviously knew about the prophecies of the druids – the leader had said something about once being a devout druid – and they were undoubtedly after  _Emrys_. But why? Were they going to try to bend his power to their will? Did they want to stop him from bringing magic back to the land? No, that last one didn't make sense, Merlin mused, because if they had magic they were just as endangered as Merlin himself. And yet they didn't seem to hold a grudge against the prince even though he was Uther's son.

In this case, Arthur was being treated basically like Merlin would be in any other situation – as the leverage to make sure the target cooperates. Merlin held back a snort – he didn't think they would appreciate him laughing when they were in the middle of capturing him – as he thought about how offended Arthur must be by now. _How does it feel to know you're not the only one people will go out of their way to kidnap?_

The stupid, fleeting thought left his mind mere seconds after he thought it as he realized, yet again, what a desperate situation he was in. He could fight back with his magic, yes – despite the leader's obvious power, Merlin was still the most powerful man here – but at what cost? All it would take would be one word in the Old Religion and Arthur would be dead. And even  _if_  Arthur wasn't in the picture, there were fifteen men, all with magic of varying strengths, surrounding him. He would more than likely be overpowered before he could take them all out.

He let out a frustrated sigh that caused Arthur to stop sending the man gripping his servant's jaw and hair death glares and meet Merlin's eyes instead. Merlin saw the conflicting emotions in his master's eyes when their gazes locked. Worry. Anxiety. Helplessness. Confusion. And above all – a rage, a fierce wave of protective anger as he watched his servant, his friend, being man-handled by a thug that wanted to do him harm. Merlin couldn't stand to see Arthur look so conflicted so he gave his prince a half-smile and muttered, "Don't worry, Arthur. It's fine."

Arthur's jaw clenched and his eyes roved to meet the leader's. "Why are you doing this? What could you possibly want with  _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin couldn't help but feel a tiny bit offended at Arthur's demeaning words.  _I'm_ not _worthless_ , he thought ruefully. He was pleased that Arthur was trying to help him all the same.

The sorcerer didn't answer right away. Instead, he barked out, "Arian! The potion, please." A short, broad man with bulging muscles lumbered forward, the same green liquid Arthur had noticed earlier clutched in a meaty fist. Arthur's eyes widened and Merlin felt a wave of nausea sweep over him at the sight of the potion . He didn't know what it was or what it was capable of but he could tell that whatever it was, it would not do him any favors.

The men gripping Merlin's arms grabbed him even tighter, forcing him to stay still. The leader squeezed Merlin's jaw and cheeks – hard – and forced his lips to pucker. Merlin began fighting frantically, squirming and kicking and flailing, but a quick yank of his hair and Arian's free hand brutally backhanding him stilled him once more. He heard a wordless roar coming from Arthur's direction, felt the sting of the blow and the tickle of blood seeping from a cut in his lip. His stomach muscles clenched in fear and anticipation as he tried to steady his breathing. His magic fought to escape him, to do  _something_  to protect him, but he held it back. They said they would kill Arthur if he used magic against them and he didn't doubt that they would.

Merlin felt the leader's hand squeeze his face again. The hand gripping his hair pulled up and the other hand dragged his jaw down. His mouth forcibly opened, the well-muscled Arian poured the entire contents of the vial into Merlin's mouth. Despite his best efforts not to drink it, his muscles reacted reflexively and he found himself swallowing the vile green potion that tasted like swamp water.

The moment the liquid hit his system, Merlin knew something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. Had they poisoned him? No, surely not… they wanted him, needed him for some reason… they'd come to capture him… hadn't they?

If he wasn't being poisoned, then why did his body, his very being, his bloodstream and heart burn with an icy fire? Why did his head explode with pain and his stomach roll with nausea? Why did his body seize up and convulse lightly a few times? He didn't know the answer to these questions, but he did know that he was more than grateful when it was over and he sunk into black oblivion.

* * *

Arthur literally saw red when the man Arian brought his meaty fist back and smashed his hand into Merlin's face causing a small stream of blood to trickle from the corner of his mouth. Arthur just couldn't comprehend why anyone would  _want_  to hurt Merlin in the first place. Sure, he was annoying and didn't know when to shut up and often Arthur would smack him lightly upside the head or threaten to feed him to the dogs, but he didn't  _mean_ it. Merlin knew that, and so did Arthur. But this…

It was bad enough to see the men converging on his helpless servant, dragging him forward, grabbing his face, baring his throat. It was horrid enough to watch them hold him still, grab his hair… But to actually, physically  _hit_ him, and as hard as that scum had. There was a vivid red handprint on his face and a trickle of blood on his lip. Merlin was so harmless. He hated violence, didn't like killing – not even animals in a hunt, which Arthur couldn't understand because hunting was great fun – and had done nothing –  _nothing_  – to deserve this treatment.

He had seen people hit before – hell,  _he_ had hit people before – but never with such malicious intent. And never had the victim been  _Merlin_.

He let out a roar of defiance, struggling with all his might to break through the restraining spell but to no avail. He could only watch as Merlin stopped struggling, blinking heavily after the vicious slap. He gritted his teeth angrily as the leader forced his mouth open and the same man that had hit him poured the green liquid down his throat. Arthur watched the neckerchief move along with the Adam's apple once more as Merlin reflexively swallowed the potion. Anxiety plagued him as he watched, waited for anything to happen. He wondered what on earth they had given Merlin – surely not poison; who would kidnap a dead person?

He watched helplessly as the potion almost instantly kicked it, causing Merlin's face to screw up in agony and his eyes to become unfocused. The men holding him let him go and he dropped to the ground, convulsing a few times before blacking out. Arthur could see the steady rise and fall of his chest and he knew that Merlin was still alive. Anger still dominated every inch of his being as he looked at Merlin, anger at the men for hurting Merlin, angry at Merlin for being in this situation, and angry at himself for caring so much. Merlin was, after all, just a servant.

Or at least that was what Arthur tried to tell himself.

Seething, he demanded. "What was that? What did you do to him?"

The leader smiled but there was no warmth in it. "Don't worry, my liege. The potion we have given Emrys is merely something to make him more… manageable. When he awakes in a few minutes, he won't be as much of a threat." He smirked.

Arthur stared. He  _really_  didn't understand. Surely these men had Merlin confused with someone else, a dangerous man named Emrys that they, for some reason, wanted. Arthur took it upon himself to inform them of their mistake. "You've got the wrong person," he announced haughtily, scoffing at their mistake.

The leader simply raised one brown eyebrow. His light blue eyes twinkled with malice. "Have I, now?"

Arthur tried to nod but then remembered he had been spelled so that he couldn't move. He settled for saying, "Yes. The man you look for, this Emrys, he is  _not_  here. This is  _Merlin_. He's certainly not dangerous, and he's just a simple servant. You have no reason to take him. If you leave us – now – then I can assure you that your sentence will not be as severe."

The clearing thundered with the laughter of fifteen men. The leader nodded at a few of them, who hastily gathered the rope and strips of cloth and knelt next to the unconscious Merlin. Arthur watched as they grabbed Merlin's limp arms and bound them tightly with the end of the rope, lashing his wrists together and leaving about two yards of rope dangling from his hands. Another man took one of the strips of cloth and jammed it into Merlin's unresisting mouth, taking another cloth and tying it around his mouth and head, effectively gagging him. The leader himself crouched beside the still servant, checking meticulously that the bonds were strong. Arthur watched all this, dazed and confused at the precautions these men were taking to secure the skinny servant.

"Why are you doing this?" Arthur demanded again. "What could you  _possibly_  gain by taking  _Mer_ lin? He's a servant, has no money, is of no value to anyone and is a terrible fighter. If anyone is a better captive, that you can gain more from, it's me." He swallowed heavily. " _I'm_  the prince of Camelot. Merlin's just my servant."

The man harrumphed and strode up to Arthur, crouching in front of him so they were eye level. "I don't deny that we could make a hefty profit off of you, boy. And if you  _really_  want to be taken prisoner, I'm sure there are _lots_  of bandits that stalk these woods looking for a pretty prince like you." He grinned maliciously. "As for me and my folk, we are smart. We  _know_  how dangerous it is to take the prince for ransom. So we figured we'd take someone that the knights of Camelot aren't going to hunt us down and slaughter us for."

Arthur thought that the man had lost his mind. It just didn't make sense. "What's the point," he said slowly, as if talking to a very stupid child, "in taking someone hostage if there's no one rich enough to pay your ransom?"

Arian came to stand beside his master and grinned a rotting, terrible smile. "Ah, but there's more'n one person that'll pay damn good money to get that lit'll package as their own."

Arthur's stomach shifted as fear for Merlin plagued him. Keeping his voice steady, trying to sound like he didn't care what happened to the trouble-magnet of an idiot, he asked, " _Who_  would want to buy  _Merlin_?"

Before Arian or his leader could respond, there was movement on the leafy grass as Merlin began to come to. Arian smirked at Arthur before walking over to Merlin and kicking him lightly in the side but hard enough to make him gasp beneath the gag. Merlin blinked a few times, confused and panicked as he realized his hands were bound and he was gagged with a mass of cloth. He struggled to sit up, his eyes slightly unfocused. Arthur turned his attention to his servant, who was now being yanked to his feet by one of the bandits via the length of rope hanging from his tied wrists.

"Merlin?" Arthur demanded, seeing his servant's eyes wandering around, presumably trying to find Arthur. Merlin's eyes widened and he tried to surge forward, to help Arthur, the selfless moron, but was held back by several pairs of hands. The look in his eyes was wild and scared and there seemed to be something missing in them. A spark of… something… that Arthur had never noticed until it was absent. "Merlin, it's okay. I won't let them take you."

The leader laughed as he ordered the men to pack up and get ready to leave. Merlin swayed on his feet again and Arthur asked, "What did you give him? What's wrong with him?"

The former druid grinned easily and motioned for Merlin to be brought forward, led along by the rope around his hands like a dog on a leash. Arthur was pulled to his feet, his legs only working when the sorcerer allowed them to and he and Merlin were almost eye to eye. He tried to look at Merlin, to reassure him that all would be okay but Merlin seemed to be purposely avoiding his gaze. The man looked giddy as if he were about to reveal a juicy secret.

"No worries, your highness, the potion will wear off in a couple of days. We just need to make sure Emrys is kept under control until we can get him to our camp." He leaned in closer, eyes glued to Arthur's face. "It just subdues and weakens a person's magic so they're not as much of a threat."

Merlin's face paled and Arthur blinked a few times trying to understand what had just been said. He had just been told that Merlin had magic? He didn't believe it, of course he didn't… Did he?

Before he could further react to the man's statement, the leader took the slack rope from Merlin's bonds and yanked, making Merlin stumble and fall flat on his face. He scrambled awkwardly to his feet as the man continued to walk, dragging him along behind like an animal. Arthur could see that Merlin was angry about the treatment but also terrified. Was he scared because of what was happening to him… or because of what had been told to Arthur? No… surely not. He should know that Arthur wouldn't believe such lies.

"Good-bye, Arthur Pendragon," the leader called as the band of men converged around the servant and the leader, making the already impossible escape even more hopeless. "Once we're safely out of the way and have covered our tracks, you'll be free to move once more. I bid you farewell."

Arthur tried to surge forward but to no avail. " _MERLIN!_ " he bellowed, not believing that this was happening, that his servant – his friend – was being dragged away from him by a band of criminals.

He could do nothing but watch as they dragged Merlin out of the clearing and disappeared into the trees. He was alone, unable to move, and his heart was racing. He couldn't help but hear the man's voice in his mind, over and over, telling him that Merlin had magic. That just wasn't possible. He tried to move again but to no avail. He knew that by the time he could free himself, there would be no way of finding them again. He had to go back to Camelot, tell his father that there were a dangerous band of sorcerers lurking in the woods, and convince him to send Arthur out with knights to catch them. Admittedly, he was more interested in freeing Merlin than actually catching the sorcerers – although he'd love to see them pay for their crimes, especially the one that had callously struck a defenseless servant, Arian.

And he also wanted to do some research. If he could find out who the  _real_  Emrys was and why the band of men thought that Merlin was one and the same, that could provide an explanation of why they seemed to believe that Merlin was a sorcerer and hopefully give him some clues about where and why they had taken the servant.

Until then, all Arthur could do was wait for the spell to lift.


	3. Chapter 3

Something was seriously wrong with Merlin – his magic felt sick, weak. He had sensed it as soon as consciousness had began to return to him, nagging at his chest, leaving a deep, unfathomable ache in his body. He had slowly opened his eyes, not sure what to expect – the last thing that he had been able to remember was hands on his face and in his hair, someone forcing something vile into his mouth – and very nearly went into full-blown panic mode when he realized that his wrists were bound tightly together and that a great wad of fabric was jammed into his mouth, held in place by another tight strip of cloth.

It hadn't made him feel any better when his gaze had flickered frantically around, only to find that there were at least six bandits in a circle around him, looking down at him with matching sneers on their faces. Someone had gripped the end of the rope that led from Merlin's wrists and had pulled – hard – dragging a nauseous Merlin unceremoniously to his feet, much to the indignation of his shoulders, which apparently did not appreciate the strain.

And his situation had only gotten worse. He had noticed Arthur, still crouched on the ground, made immobile by the sorcerer's spell, eyes wide and worried. He had wanted to reassure Arthur, to let him know that it would be okay, not to worry about him – although Arthur would furiously deny  _ever_ worrying about his idiotic servant – but he couldn't. He couldn't talk, he couldn't move his hands, and for some reason, just the thought of trying to do magic made him feel physically ill.

His stomach had been tied in so many knots that he had doubted he would ever get it unraveled as some bandits had brought Arthur to his feet and then pulled Merlin along to stand across from him. Merlin had avoided his master's gaze, not wanting Arthur to see him so vulnerable. Arthur may have thought that Merlin was a weakling but that couldn't be further than the truth – and it both infuriated and humiliated Merlin to be put in a position of such helplessness for the man he risked everything to protect to see.

The potion, the leader had said, eyes gleaming as he stared eagerly at Arthur's face, subdued a person's magic. All coherent thought had been wiped away from Merlin's mind in that moment, with the realization that Arthur knew, whether or not he chose to believe. The prospect was terrifying, yet Merlin wasn't allowed to dwell on the implications for very long.

Whoever had been holding the end of his "leash" had chosen that moment to jerk the rope and send Merlin sprawling face-first into the dirt and continued walking, forcing Merlin to either let himself be dragged on his belly through the forest or scramble unsteadily to his feet and walk behind. He had chosen the latter – it was much more dignified – as the rest of the bandits formed a circle around Merlin and the leader. Merlin had looked back, managing to catch one last glimpse of Arthur before he was led away into the forest and Arthur was no longer in his line of sight. Arthur had looked confused, conflicted, but mostly furious. Merlin didn't think the anger was directed at  _him_  though – considering the frantic yell of, " _MERLIN!_ " that tore through the foliage moments after Merlin had been taken away.

Now Merlin was stumbling along through the forest while the leader, who had not spoken once since telling Arthur "farewell," yanking roughly on the rope around Merlin's wrists every two or three minutes, causing the warlock to either trip up or fall flat on his face. Judging by the amount of laughter and applause each degree of falling received from the surrounding bandits every time the leader pulled the rope, they enjoyed Merlin's face plants the most. These men were apparently not very considerate of other people's feelings  _or_  their pain. The bandits were more like magical barbarians than druids or whatever it was they claimed to be.

After about fifteen minutes of the constant pulling-and-falling routine, Merlin had had  _enough_. He might not have full access to his magic right now, but this was low, degrading, and simply  _rude_. They had attacked him, hit him, tied him up, gagged him, and dragged him around like a naughty puppy but this…  _this_  was too much.

Merlin stubbornly dug his heels into the ground, grinding to a stop and surprising the man dragging him along in this sick game of follow the leader into halting as well. It was probably a stupid move to make, but Merlin was scared, angry, worried, and above all –  _annoyed_. Who the hell did these people think they were, anyway? Merlin wasn't going to lie down and let them walk all over him. Now that he was out of Arthur's sight, he wasn't prepared to play the helpless servant. He just wished this gag was out of his mouth so he could let these bullies have a piece of his mind. He also wanted to demand to know just what it was they wanted with him.

He didn't falter as the lead bandit turned to look at him, feeling the eyes of the entire group on him as he stood there, shoulders tall and proud like he wasn't fazed in the slightest about being trussed up. He tried to ignore the pathetic flutter of his currently useless magic inside of him, as if it were trying and failing desperately to come to his aid. He didn't need anyone to tell him that he was helpless, but he sure as hell wasn't going to go down without a fight. If there was one thing everyone that knew him agreed upon, friends and enemies alike, it was that he was stubborn. They might have made his magic dormant but they couldn't take away his bullheadedness.

When the leader turned to look at him, nearly white eyes cold and almost dead, Merlin almost backed down at the severity of the gaze. Almost – but there was no way he was going to let any of these thugs know that something in that lead "druid's" eyes unnerved him. He stood up straighter, locking eyes with the man holding his rope.

They stood like that, staring at each other for several long moments before an odd little grin – mocking but also genuinely amused – found its way onto the man's face as he looked his captive up and down before commenting, "Well, if the old loons were right about anything, it's certainly that the legendary Emrys is a brave one." He smirked. "Although I'm inclined to believe that he's more stupid than anything." The circle around Merlin rumbled with laughter.

Merlin felt his face heat up at the insult – somehow when anyone other than Arthur, Gaius, or Uther called him an idiot, it was actually quite offending – and growled behind the gag. The leader continued smirking, crossed his arms lazily over his chest, and exchanged amused glances with the ugly brute of a man who had poured the potion into Merlin's mouth, Arian.

"Well, Emrys," he mocked lightly, now staring at Merlin intently again, "is there something on your mind?" He paused, chuckling. "Something you'd like to say? Because we're all friends here, right, gentlemen?" Again the nearby area hummed with chortles. Merlin fumed as the leader grinned wider. "Don't be afraid, Emrys – if you've got something to say, now's the time to say it." He put a hand to his ear, leaning his whole body toward Merlin as the warlock tried to yell, curse,  _anything_  beneath the accursed rag but he couldn't. "What's that? Nothing? Well, okay then, if you're  _sure_ …" He grinned and yanked the rope again, introducing Merlin's already scratched face to the ground once more.

The laughter rose in pitch and intensity and Merlin felt more angry than he had in a long time as he was dragged to his feet again. His stomach rolled and his head pounded as his magic instinctively reacted to his anger – something that hadn't happened in quite some time, now that he was getting more adept at controlling it since he first arrived in Camelot – and before he knew it, the leader was flying through the air in a rather un-graceful arc, hitting a tree and going limp at the base.

He heard a yell of outrage – actually,  _many_  screams of protest at their leader's unexpected flight – but he couldn't comprehend them. Merlin's magic was poisoned against him, sending waves of nausea through his aching body and causing his head to scream in absolute agony. It was like someone was driving molten knives into his skull, his brain, his eyes. He fought desperately not to throw up as whatever was in that potion did its work all too well. If he lost it now, with this cloth in his mouth… well, Merlin didn't think that would end too well.

The edges of his vision began to grow dark and he grunted as he fell over. Something hard slammed into his side… again… and again… He fought to keep the tears from forming but they accumulated on their own as something crashed down on one of his bound hands and something else rammed into his side again. He blearily realized that they were kicking him. He closed his eyes and the world spun even more. Right before he passed out, giving into the darkness and escaping the pain and nausea using his magic had inflicted on him, he thought he heard someone yell, " _Stop!_ "

But then again, it could have very well been his imagination.

* * *

Arthur was  _not_  in a good mood when he finally trudged into the limits of Camelot nearly two hours later. He had been stuck, unable to move, bleeding lightly from the wound from his neck (it was  _really_  irritating not being able to wipe the tickling blood away with a swipe of his hand) for nearly an  _hour_  before he was released from the spell. The wait had been agonizing, filled with worries, questions, and helplessness –  _What if they decided not to let him go? What was happening to Merlin right now? What had made them think that Merlin, of all people, was a sorcerer, anyway? Was that laughing he heard? Merlin had better have made some sort of stupid joke, because if they were hurting him…_   _And just_ when _was he going to be able to move again?_

And so he had stood and waited and thought and huffed and puffed and had grown very _, very_  agitated. A worried, annoyed Arthur was bad enough to deal with. But when Arthur was worried about a  _servant_  – particularly his obnoxious, loyal, outspoken servant – he was nearly impossible to be around. By the time the spell wore off and he was finally able to collapse into an exhausted, aching pile of prince on the forest floor, he had gotten sick and tired of being alone with  _himself_  and all his dark, grumpy thoughts. And the images of Merlin playing over and over…

 _Merlin, with rough hands pulling at his hair… Merlin, a huge, meaty hand smashing into his cheek… Merlin, being force-fed potion… Merlin, crying out and collapsing as the potion took effect… Merlin, unconscious… Merlin, being tied up… Merlin, being dragged along like livestock… Merlin, disappearing into the brush with those lowlifes… Merlin with magic… No, the thugs_ thinking _that Merlin had magic..._

When he had been freed, the first thing Arthur had wanted to do was go and find their trail, hunt down Merlin, and throttle all of those bandits with his bare hands. He very nearly went with his gut instinct. Instead, he had forced himself to take a deep breath and go along with his original plan – get to Camelot as fast as he could, find out more about Emrys, tell his father about the sorcerer, lead a search party out at any cost, not necessarily in that order.

He did this for several reasons. One, the sorcerer had assured Arthur that by the time they released him of the spell, they would have been long gone and their tracks covered. Two, the man was powerful – he had frozen Arthur into a human statue with just a few words. He also had fourteen other men – who may or may not have possessed magic – for backup. Arthur needed backup of his own and he would get it, whether or not his father was willing to give it willingly. But  _first_  he had to find out just who these kidnappers were and what they wanted with Merlin – who they apparently thought was a powerful, valuable magician.

As Arthur stormed into the city, his weapons having been left in the woods with no one to carry them for him (except for his sword, obviously). He was dirty, had crusted dried blood on his neck, and his eyes spat determined fire that sent commoners, guards, and knights alike diving out of his way. He could hardly believe that it had just been this morning when he and a very reluctant Merlin had departed the city in the heat, Arthur having forced Merlin to come along just because he hated it. Right now, Arthur was so angry at himself – and at Merlin for being so fun to annoy – that he was on the verge of slamming his fist into a wall. He didn't, though, because he didn't see how having a broken hand would help the situation in the slightest.

He didn't even realize he had made his way to Gaius's chambers until he had burst into the room, slamming the door into the wall he opened it so hard, making the poor old physician jump a mile, barely managing to keep a hold on the bowl he was crushing some sort of herb in. Arthur knew he looked wild, maybe even savage, but he was worried and still fuming over what those bandits had done to Merlin. He needed to talk to Gaius before he went to his father, knowing that Merlin's mentor would be on his side and hopefully be able to assist Arthur in convincing the king that they  _needed_ to send some knights out for the servant. Arthur felt the worry rage in him again as he tried not to think about what his servant could be going through right now… If had  _one_  scratch on him when they got him back, those servant-nappers would have  _hell_  to pay. He was also hoping that Gaius would know something about the  _real_  Emrys.

Gaius, clearly startled by Arthur's dramatic entrance and ragged appearance, strode forward, concerned. "Arthur? Sire? What happened to you?" His face grew a little wary as his eyes roved around, noting Arthur's grim expression and the lack of clumsy warlock in the small room. "Where's Merlin?"

Arthur ignored the question for the time being, not quite sure how he was going to tell the old man that the boy who had become like a son to him had been dragged away by a group of bandits that were apparently planning on selling him to someone stupid enough to buy him for who knows why. Instead, he said the first thing that came to his mind, barely restraining all of the emotion in his voice.

"Who's Emrys?"

This time, Gaius didn't even make an attempt to catch the bowl as it fell from his shaking hands and crashed to the floor in a hundred tiny pieces.


	4. Chapter 4

Gaius had a fairly normal day up until the moment Arthur nearly gave him a heart attack.

Merlin had rushed down the small set of stairs from his room, hastily tying his neckerchief at the back of his neck, scampering out of their chambers without breakfast, complaining about how Arthur was going to throw something at him for being late again. Not thirty minutes after his ward's departure, Merlin had returned, dragging his feet and grumbling about being a servant to the world's biggest prat.

From what Gaius had been able to figure out, from Merlin's complaints, Arthur had decided to go hunting today _just_  because he knew how much Merlin hated it. It was hot and sticky outside, Merlin was tired, Arthur was in a doubly obnoxious mood today, and Merlin  _still_  hadn't had breakfast. Gaius had tried to force Merlin to eat something before they left but Merlin refused, informing his mentor that Arthur was already agitated and he didn't want to tick his royal pratness off more than was necessary.

After Merlin had left, Gaius had gone about his daily routine – mixing remedies, sorting medical reports, doing research, making sure anything incriminating was out of sight in Merlin's room (that boy  _really_  was too careless sometimes), and going about his rounds, distributing medicines and looking over the sick. The possibility that something might be going terribly wrong where Merlin and Arthur were hunting hadn't even crossed his mind.

That was a scary thought, he would muse later – strange, wasn't it, how someone you care about more than anything could be in terrible danger and you would never even know it until after it was too late? There they were, fighting for their lives or facing deadly foes, and where were you while they did this? Sitting at home, warming your feet by the fire, thinking everything was perfectly fine. It was a highly disconcerting train of thought, one that Gaius would find himself mucking about in for a long time to come following Arthur's dramatic entrance into his chambers.

It  _was_ getting later into the afternoon and Gaius had been expecting the prince and Merlin to return before now, especially given the heat, but he had simply assumed that Arthur was staying out longer just to antagonize his servant (which Gaius had to admit, even to himself, was a slightly amusing prospect; for such an all-powerful warlock with a great destiny, Merlin sure liked to whine when it came to following Arthur's orders) or that they _had_ returned but Merlin simply hadn't had the chance to drop back in yet. Arthur did keep him busy most of the time.

Gaius frowned as he worked on preparing Uther's shoulder remedy for later. He just hoped that Merlin had had a chance to eat since he had left this morning but somehow he doubted it. Arthur, no matter how much he had changed since meeting Merlin, still wasn't the type of person to inquire whether a servant had been eating properly and knowing Merlin – the idiot, he thought affectionately – he had already forgotten.

Gaius sighed fondly, thinking of the young man that had become so much like a son to him over the past three years. He couldn't help but feel a tiny worm of worry inch its way into the back of his mind as he thought about how he hadn't heard a peep from Merlin all day. Maybe they  _hadn't_ returned from the hunting trip – Merlin usually would at least poke his head in to let Gaius know he had gotten back, usually with the intent of regaling the physician with stories of Arthur's ignorance and how the prince relished taking the lives of defenseless fluffy critters. He continued to mix Uther's medicine, planning on taking it to the king as soon as he'd finished it – a bit earlier than usual, perhaps, but while he was out he could stroll around a bit and keep an eye out for a sign that Arthur and Merlin had returned.

Just as he was finishing up the last of the mixing, his old heart gave an unpleasant jump as the door to his chambers was flung open, crashing into the wall from the force. At the same time, Gaius released a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding – that  _had_  to be Merlin, angry about something the prince had done and planning to vent to Gaius about it. With a sharp reprimand for the violent entrance already forming on his tongue, Gaius stared in shock when he saw that it was Arthur, not Merlin, that had burst into his chambers.

At first Gaius was equally annoyed that the prince was being so disrespectful to his living quarters, but as soon as he got a good look at the young man in question, the anger was quelled instantly and replaced by a foreboding sense of worry. Arthur's hair was dirty and mussed, sticking out of his head at all angles. His face was smudged, his clothes rumpled, and his eyes were wide, wild, and worried. There was a shallow cut on the front of his neck, dried blood forming a small path down his neck and under the fabric of his shirt. It wasn't serious but it had to have hurt. Gaius also noticed that Merlin was nowhere to be seen and the worry started to morph into full-fledged fear as he met Arthur's eyes.

"Arthur? Sire? What happened to you?"  _What happened to Merlin?_  was the unspoken question that he wanted more than anything to ask but was afraid to because of what the answer might be. He glanced around and knew he  _had_  to ask. "Where's Merlin?"

From the way Arthur hesitated at the blunt question, Gaius knew that the answer wasn't good, not good at all. He wondered frantically what misfortune could have befallen the boy. Merlin was like a son to him and he hated to think that anything had happened to him. But surely, with his magic, he would be okay? Somehow Gaius figured that wasn't the case. Despite Merlin's astounding, one of a kind gifts, the boy managed to get himself into a great plethora of trouble. He just hoped – as he did every time Merlin was in danger – that the warlock would persevere.

And then Arthur asked the most unexpected question, one that Gaius would have  _never_  expected to come from the prince's mouth, especially at a time like this. A whole new wave of fear passed through him as the bowl containing Uther's medicine crashed to the floor and splintered as a result of his shock at Arthur's query. "Who's Emrys?"

Gaius's mind was whirling as he tried to keep his face calm. Finding that panic was beginning to take over, he quickly turned and stooped down, collecting the larger pieces of the bowl so that Arthur couldn't see any fear on his face.  _How can Arthur know about Emrys? Does he know about Merlin's magic? If so, where_ is _Merlin?_  A terrible thought struck Gaius, a thought that the old man felt ashamed of contemplating after the fact, but given the question, the clearly disturbed prince, and the lack of Merlin (namely characterized by the unnatural quiet in the room), Gaius couldn't help but let the thought pass into his thoughts.  _What if Arthur found out and turned him into his father? What if Arthur_ hurt  _him?_

Straining to keep his voice steady, Gaius kept his back to Arthur as he cleared up the mess. "Who?"

Arthur let out a short little huff but without looking at his face Gaius didn't know if he were stressed, worried, annoyed, angry… Gaius was almost afraid to turn and see the expression on the prince's face. With forced calm, Arthur repeated. "Emrys." There was a beat. Then – "He's a sorcerer, I know that, and probably a powerful one. But I  _need_  to find out more about him, Gaius."

Gaius finally turned to face Arthur and was surprised to see a bit of badly masked desperation foaming in his blue orbs. "What brought all this about, Arthur? It's most unlike you to come barging into my quarters, demanding to know about sorcerers by name." He paused. "Why is it you are inclined to think that I might have association with a sorcerer, anyway, Sire?"

Arthur sighed again and ran both hands through his unruly mop of hair. "I don't know – I just… I don't know… thought you might… know?" The disjointed sentence came out as more of a question, and a pleading one at that.

Gaius bit his lip, some calm beginning to return after his scare. It was obvious Arthur didn't  _know_  about Merlin's magic, but somehow he had managed to learn about Emrys. Still anxious about where Merlin could have gotten off to and worried about how Arthur was behaving, Gaius gently guided the prince to sit on a stool before fetching a cloth, hunting down some supplies to make a cream for the cut, and made his request.

"I'll see what I can do, Arthur. But first, you must tell me  _everything_."

Arthur let out a nervous, longsuffering breath and nodded. He began to talk.

* * *

When Arthur finished talking, Gaius was silent for several long moments. He had told Gaius everything – from the bandits' insistence that they would take Merlin as a captive instead of Arthur to their apparently misguided belief that he was an all-powerful sorcerer named Emrys. He didn't go into the details about how rough they'd been with the servant, though. Perhaps he shouldn't have hidden anything from the physician but it had been hard enough for Arthur to watch the men hit and drag Merlin – he didn't want his servant's guardian to have to dwell on those images, either.

"Gaius?" Arthur finally ventured, not sure what the old man's reaction would be. Halfway through the story, Gaius had sunk down onto a nearby stool, his weathered face betraying his emotions – shocked and scared. Arthur knew how he was feeling. "I'm… sorry. I tried to protect him; I really did – but they put a spell on me and I couldn't move… and I just had to watch as they took him away. I'm really sorry." To his humiliation, his voice cracked slightly.

Gaius stared into space for a few more seconds before addressing the prince. "I do not blame you, Sire," he said sadly. "Although I do fear greatly for Merlin.  _Especially_  if they think he is someone as valuable as Emrys." He looked like he wanted to say more but hesitated, finally deciding on silence as he continued to watch Arthur's facial expression.

"So you know who this Emrys is, then?" Arthur asked, hope beginning to bubble up inside of him even at Gaius's ominous words. This was the only lead he had to Merlin and if Gaius could help him out, maybe Arthur would be able to rescue the clumsy servant before any more harm came to him.

Gaius sighed heavily and nodded slowly. "I do, Sire."

Arthur smiled reassuringly. "Then tell me."

"Emrys," Gaius began slowly, as if trying to decide how much he could divulge to Arthur, "is a figure of prophecy. He is said to be the greatest warlock of all time." Arthur couldn't help the small scowl that found its way onto his face at this new revelation. The greatest sorcerer ever? Surely this could not bode for Camelot. Seeing the prince's automatic reaction, Gaius quickly cut in. "Do not get the wrong impression, Sire. Emrys may be powerful but he is  _not_ evil."

Arthur was mildly surprised by Gaius's proclamation. In a place where any amount of magic was deemed evil, it was close to treason to say that someone – especially someone as powerful as Emrys – was good. That was implying that magic was good. Yet surprisingly enough, Arthur found that the idea of magic that was not evil existing did not faze him as much as he would have thought. After all, he had encountered good magic before, hadn't he? When Merlin had been poisoned and that blue orb of light helped show him the way out of the cave, that certainly hadn't been used for dark purposes. In fact, magic had saved  _his_  life – the life of the son of the man that wanted to see all magic eradicated.

Gaius waited for Arthur's response with bated breath, not looking sorry for what he had said but rather a bit apprehensive of Arthur's judgment. The prince could tell that there was something the old man wasn't telling him and that Gaius was trying to decide just how much to reveal to Arthur. The old man certainly was adept at hiding his emotions but Arthur had known him for so long that he could tell when he was hiding something. Arthur couldn't figure out why Gaius would be holding back now, especially since it was Merlin on the line. The prince would have thought that Gaius would have told him everything so that Arthur could be better equipped to help his servant. Instead, Gaius was deliberately keeping from revealing  _something._

"Gaius," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice calm and measured, barely refraining from revealing the anxiety in his tone as he wished that he could be out there right now, looking for Merlin. He couldn't afford to waste time trying to pry answers out of Gaius. "This is Merlin's  _life_  at stake. I know that you are hesitant to speak openly about magic and your views on it given where we are, but I'm telling you now – those men took Merlin to  _sell_ him. He's nothing more than property to them and I've seen their type before. They're not going to treat him like a guest." He didn't voice his fears that Merlin would be abused at their hands. "He's their  _prisoner._ "

Gaius nodded curtly, his eyes brimming with hurt and worry. "I understand, Sire."

"Do you?" Arthur asked. "Because I can tell that you are hiding something from me, Gaius. I don't know what it is, but it's obviously something important. And if it could hold baring in whether Merlin is returned to Camelot or remains in the hands of those pigs and their customers, I don't suggest you hold back. I can assure you, I have seen magic used for good and although I do have my doubts about it, I am not going to strike you down for suggesting that not all magic is evil." He locked his eyes on Gaius's, nearly pleading. " _Please_ , Gaius, if you have any information that can help Merlin, tell me now. This is a dangerous game we're playing here."

Gaius nodded slowly. "These men used to be druids?" Arthur nodded. "They would have heard of Emrys and the prophecies surrounding him and how he will play a crucial role in bringing peace to Camelot and uniting Albion."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in a rather impressive impersonation of Gaius. "That sounds like a noble goal."

"Indeed." Gaius hesitated again.

"Gaius, I'm telling you – Merlin is in serious danger. If you don't tell me everything I need to know, we may very well never see him again." He paused, swallowing heavily. "And even if you  _do_  tell me everything, I fear that our chances are slim. So everything counts." He looked the court physician seriously in his eyes, not liking having to push him for answers but knowing he had no other choice. He shouldn't be sitting around talking right now – he should be gathering some knights and starting a search for Merlin. After all, every moment that Merlin was away from Camelot, the messier Arthur's chambers would become. He needed his servant back as soon as possible or his rooms would be a complete wreck.

Gaius bit his lip. "I do not know for sure how these men found Merlin or what they used to decide that he was the one that they were looking for. I do know, however, that the druids are a people that can sense magic…"

Arthur stared at him, his mind whirling frantically. Was Gaius actually suggesting that Merlin _was_  Emrys? "Gaius – are you saying that the druids were correct? That Merlin actually  _is_  a sorcerer?" No, it couldn't be… that didn't make any sense. Merlin wasn't evil. Of course, that blue orb that had saved Arthur hadn't been evil. Neither had the unicorn. His mind was spinning with questions, doubts, and emotions but he pushed them all aside.

Gaius stared into space blankly for a few moments before responding. "I cannot tell you for certain, my lord, what these men actually know and what is the truth. But if, somehow, they  _were_  correct in their deduction that Merlin is Emrys, I can assure you, Merlin is  _not_  evil." Gaius stared the prince in the eyes, almost as if waiting for a death sentence to be passed out.

Perhaps he was.

"Gaius, I'll be honest with you," Arthur announced suddenly. "I don't know what the hell is going on. I don't know if you're being truthful or if you know more about all of this than you claim to. I don't know if Merlin really is who these people think – although God help us if Merlin really  _is_  a sorcerer; the idiot with any amount of power is a scary prospect indeed – or if this is just some grand misunderstanding. I don't know much more than I knew before I came to you. But now I know what I must do."

Gaius felt his heart skip a beat. He hadn't wanted to tell Arthur as much as he did. It wasn't that he didn't trust the prince – well, he didn't, not really, not with Merlin's secret anyway; not yet – but more that he felt that it wasn't his place to give any information about Merlin's gifts away to anyone, least of all Arthur, even with the present circumstances. Still, he had been purposefully vague. He understood what Arthur had said to him, that this could be a matter of life and death for Merlin.

Gaius cringed to think what kind of people would want to buy Merlin – well, "Emrys," but Merlin and Emrys were a sort of package deal. Merlin didn't have magic, he  _was_  magic, and Emrys was, in a way, Merlin's magic. They were one in the same. Whoever bought Emrys would be purchasing Merlin as well.

Just the idea of anyone  _buying_  his ward sent flashes of uncharacteristic anger shooting through Gaius. Merlin had been with him for nearly three years now and had taken a very special place in Gaius's heart. He was such a good boy – a little impulsive, often oblivious to his own value and ready to throw himself into the flames for others, but that only made him more endearing. He hated violence and didn't like the idea of people getting hurt. He had a pure heart and despite having suffered so much in his twenty-sum years of life, he had only ever endeavored to use his magic for good. And to think – someone actually wanted to  _buy_  him like he was an animal, use him for their own sadistic purposes.

Gaius could think of a few, and none of them were good. There were some royals that would pay nearly anything to have someone so powerful in their possession, someone that they thought they could break and train for their own uses. King Alined was one such example – he had his little petty magician jester, Trickler, but the boy was nothing more than a trickster. Alined loved war but was a coward – if he could get his hands on "the" Emrys with the intention of pending him to his twisted will, there would most certainly be trouble. And the man was brutal. There might be other kings out there that would be even worse. Gaius hated to think what would become of Merlin if King Cenred got his filthy hands on him.

And then there was the possibility that another sorcerer could set out to get Merlin in their clutches. If someone like Morgause, for example, managed to get Merlin, the boy would be in even more trouble. Then again, Gaius thought, the men who had taken him might try to simply ransom him back to the druids. If they used to be druids themselves, they would know how much Emrys meant to the magical community. But the druids were not a rich people.

Or what if…? No, he couldn't think that way. If those men tried to sell Merlin to Camelot, to Uther… Merlin would not come out of this alive. Everyone knew of Uther's hatred for magic. Uther would never make deals with other sorcerers, but if he found out through their transactions that they had the most powerful sorcerer in their possession, he would send knights out to find and kill him.

Gaius had to stop thinking this way. Merlin was far from helpless, although his magic being poisoned might prove to be a bit of an issue. Still, Merlin was not always the idiot that nearly everyone in Camelot took him to be. He was resourceful, sometimes even clever. If anyone could figure a way out of his situation, it was him. Still, if it was Merlin against an entire  _band_  of renegade druids, maybe even a whole village… Escape would not be easy and if he was caught trying to escape, he could wind up in even more trouble than he already was.

Pushing all these troubling thoughts aside for the time being (there would be plenty of time to fret later), Gaius asked, "And what, Sire, is it that you must do?"

Arthur let a small, nearly imperceptible grin grace his face. "Rescue the bloody idiot, of course. If it turns out he _does_  have magic, though, I honestly can't say what I'll do. To think that he might have lied to me for so long is unthinkable… treasonous…" Gaius felt his heart sink. "But of course, who am I to judge until I have heard everything? I'm not saying I believe he is a sorcerer and I'm not saying that if he is how I will react. But the moron can't speak for himself if he isn't here, can he?"

Gaius smiled slightly. Perhaps there was hope after all. "Do you still plan to go to your father for help, Sire?"

Arthur nodded solemnly. "I don't think he'll let me go, though." He scowled. "Father holds no value for the life of a servant. Since the bandits seemed to be heading in the direction of Cenred's kingdom, it is very unlikely that he will give me any knights or his blessing to go look for Merlin. And I'm certainly not going to be able to tell him that the reason why he was taken is because the men responsible think he is some kind of mystical wonder. He'd have me hunting Merlin down to kill him, without even hearing his side of the story first…" He trailed off, looking troubled.

Gaius broke in, a little hesitantly. This had gone better than he had hoped although he certainly couldn't say what Arthur's reaction would be if he found out for sure that Merlin and Emrys were indeed the same person. He could only hope that when – if – this was confirmed for the prince that he would keep to his word and hear Merlin out first although the physician had a strong feeling that he would. Merlin and Arthur had gone through too much together over the past three years and had formed a close bond –a friendship, although neither of them would admit it. Gaius hoped that the bond would stay firm if Arthur was faced with a choice about Merlin and his allegiance. Gaius knew that Merlin would always be loyal to Camelot but wouldn't be able to necessarily blame Arthur if the prince was a bit doubtful. Still, he had reached a point where he could only hope.

"Sire," Gaius announced, "I think I may have a better idea."


	5. Chapter 5

When Merlin regained consciousness, he had one  _hell_  of a headache. His sides and abdomen were aching terribly and his right hand felt like it had been shattered. He groaned as his eyes snapped open, realizing that he _could_  groan. The gag was finally out of his mouth! When he first opened his eyes his stomach lurched unpleasantly as he realized that it was dark outside. How long had he been out? He blinked and dark, blurry shapes began to form in his line of sight as awareness continued to return.

His back and arms cramped and he tried to bring them above his head to stretch before he realized that he couldn't. His wrists were still bound tightly together at the front but the extra rope had been shortened to just a few inches and the end of the slack was tied to a wooden stake that had been driven into the ground. Merlin himself was leaning against a tree, hands stretched out in front of him, tied to said stake.

A fire was crackling a distance away – short enough away so that he wasn't in complete darkness and was still in eyeshot and earshot of his captors and far enough away that he couldn't feel any of the warmth from the flames. He vaguely smelled something cooking over the fire and his stomach rumbled noisily as he remembered that he hadn't eaten breakfast, lunch or dinner – he hadn't eaten in at least twenty-four hours. His head was still swimming from the potion's reaction to the use of his magic. Everything came back to him then and he had to restrain a growl of anger at how these brutes had been treating him. He knew for a fact, though – he couldn't use magic again, at least not until the potion wore off or if he had no choice. The aftereffects had  _not_  been pleasant.

"Welcome back."

Merlin jumped at the unexpected voice and hissed in pain as his ribs and stomach protested the sudden movement. His head snapped around in the direction of the voice and saw the leader of the group standing to the left of him, watching him. The man crouched down to his level (there was not enough slack for Merlin to kneel, let alone stand) and Merlin noticed with some satisfaction that there was a deep bruise creeping around from the back of his head to his neck and jaw.  _Good. He deserved it_. Merlin wasn't a vengeful person by nature but these men were simply brutes.

Merlin glared at the leader, refusing to break eye contact even though those pale blue eyes made his heart pump faster in fear. He could see the cold hatred in those icy depths – multiplied by ten ever since Merlin had attacked him with magic. Merlin opened his mouth, not sure what, if anything, he should say. He wanted to yell, to scream, to cast another spell, to curse… Instead he decided on quietly, evenly asking, "What do you want with me?"

The leader observed him expressionlessly for a moment before answering, his voice cold and mocking. His brown hair seemed to glow almost golden in the dim light of the fire that reached Merlin's side of the clearing. "You cut right to the chase, don't you, Emrys?" He tutted. "You aren't even going to thank me for calling my men off earlier? If I hadn't, you would have been a lot worse off than bruised ribs and a broken hand."

Merlin was appalled. No wonder his hand hurt so bad! "You  _broke_  it?" he accused. He tried to move his fingers and wound up gasping in pain. If the extent and radius of the pain was any indicator, he would be inclined to guess that nearly every bone in his hand had been fractured.

The leader rolled his eyes. "No. My  _men_  did. Aren't you listening?"

Merlin glared at him. "You have magic. Why don't you fix it?"

The leader wasn't impressed. " _You_  have magic. You threw me into a tree."

Merlin fumed. "You deserved it." The leader let out a short bark of a laugh – more angry than amused, it seemed – and Merlin felt his forehead wrinkle as his hand and ribs sent out calls of agony in waves. "You obviously hate me. Why did you call your men off?" He tried to change position slightly but bit his lip as the rope rubbed against his right wrist and set off another explosion of pain. He noticed he couldn't move his legs apart and glanced down to see that his ankles had been similarly bound to the stake. Without use of his magic, he wasn't going anywhere.

His captor ran thin hands through his light brown hair. "I'll admit I was tempted to let them continue. But when I came to and saw that my men were beating you half to death, I realized that if they seriously maimed you or killed you, you'd be no use to us anymore." He chuckled humorlessly. "I literally had to peel Arian off of you – he's the one that crushed your hand with his boot."

Merlin winced at the thought and his hand throbbed again. He forced himself not to think about the damage that had been done. He avoided looking down at his bound hands because he didn't want to see how swollen that hand was. "It seems you've found someone who hates you more than I do, Emrys. And that's saying something. So if I were you, I'd stay on my good side – if I stop protecting you from Arian, you'll be dead before you can even  _think_  about using magic."

Questions rolled through Merlin's mind and he picked the first one that was able to stumble semi-coherently to his lips. "Why do you hate me? We've only just met."

The leader smirked. "Ever heard of love at first sight? I guess you could say that this is a case of 'hate at first sight.'" His words were almost joking but his eyes, even in the dimly lit wood, were haunted.

Merlin frowned. "It's deeper than that." He recoiled and pushed himself back against the tree as far as he could go as the man's hand swung out unexpectedly and grabbed his face tightly, squeezing his cheeks. Merlin fought the urge to panic, remembering what had happened the last time the man had done this – he's gotten force fed something to poison his magic. This time, though, there was no potion, just a livid ex-druid leering just inches away from Merlin's face, their noses almost touching. Merlin could smell small traces of ale on his breath. He tensed, not sure what to expect.

Finally, the man snarled, "Mind your own damn business, Emrys." Glaring at Merlin stonily for a few more seconds that felt like ages, he finally released Merlin's face, throwing his head back against the tree. Merlin grunted in pain but didn't react otherwise. It was obvious he had hit a sore spot with this subject and he didn't want to press it any more than he already had.

Exercising his sore jaw slowly, Merlin studied the man, who now had that stoic mask back on his features. Deciding that the tense, emotional moment was over, Merlin changed the subject. "Who are you? What  _do_  you want with me?"

The leader narrowed his eyes but finally answered, "My name is Rechrad. I was once a druid; I no longer follow their practices  _or_  their prophecies." He stared Merlin down and the young warlock refused to look away no matter how much those dead eyes made him want to. "So don't expect any special treatment because you're the great  _Emrys_  of legends. We don't play favorites."

Merlin indicated his broken hand with a flick of his eyes and Rechrad's eyes followed his gaze. "I couldn't notice." His stomach was churning and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. But he had to find out more… like what these men wanted him for, where they were going, and what they planned to do to him. His gut growled angrily and Merlin swallowed thickly, having not had anything to drink since before the attack.

Rechrad gazed at his prisoner indifferently. "Hungry?"

Merlin eyed the man warily before answering truthfully, "Yes."

"Hmm. I may be able to scrounge leftovers from tonight for you to have before we leave tomorrow morning, but of course the men have to get their fill first." Merlin glared at him. Sighing, not a bit bothered by his captive's unhappiness, Rechrad lifted a water skin he had apparently brought with him. "Water?" Merlin nodded, cringing as his brain seemed to rattle inside of his skull at the movement. Rechrad smirked. "Am I going to have to  _make_ you open your mouth this time or are you going to behave like a grown-up and drink?"

Merlin was  _not_  amused by the patronizing, biting tone. This was the kind of talk that had gotten Rechrad flung into the tree in the first place. The warlock ignored the taunts for the time being and opened his mouth, allowing the man to pour the lukewarm liquid down his parched throat. He coughed a little as the water first hit his system but his body quickly thanked him for the drink. He fought back a groan and laid his head back on the tree. His head was spinning from all the excitement, exhaustion, and hunger but Merlin pushed the feeling away. He needed to know, "Why did you kidnap me?"

"You'll find out soon enough." Rechrad paused, observed Merlin for bit, and then reached into his robe, pulling out another strip of cloth. "I'm sorry," he said, not sounding sorry in the slightest, as he advanced on the young man. "Can't have you yelling for help or trying to use magic all night." He proceeded to gag Merlin once again. He stood and Merlin squinted up at him. "Just remember, Emrys – your magic is poisoned against you. So I wouldn't try anything. Especially because if anything like what happened earlier occurs again…" He trailed off ominously, glancing over his shoulder at the group of bandits congregated around the fire, "I may very well decide that you're not worth it and I may tell Arian there is no longer a reason to hold back his hate."

Merlin didn't answer – not that he could – and Rechrad shrugged, kicking the boy lightly but significantly on the right hip. "Behave," he ordered, smirking, before he sauntered away.

Merlin fought the nearly overwhelming urge to try his luck and use his magic to turn Rechrad into something _really_  unpleasant – like maybe a dung beetle or a really warty toad or maybe a rat for his infamous rat stew recipe. He knew that as long as the poison was in his system, he was all but helpless. But as soon as his magic returned to him, he had to be ready.

He resisted the need for sleep at first, intent on having an escape plan for the first chance he got to employ it. Eventually, though, his eyes began to droop and then closed of their own accord… and then… then… he was asleep.

* * *

When Merlin woke up, he was still sore, stiff, and hungry but he did feel quite a bit better than he had the day before. His magic was still weak and he knew if he tried to use it he would just inflict more torture upon himself. He shifted slightly, wincing as his broken hand was jerked slightly by the rope. Now that it dawn was upon the warlock and his captors, Merlin could see more of what his situation was and where they were. Unfortunately, this also meant he could see the damage inflicted upon his hand.

He tried to quell the nausea at the sight of the appendage. His right hand was swollen nearly three times its normal size, his fingers stiff and mottled with bruises like black and blue sausages. The top of his hand was splotched with more blue and purple bruises and his wrist was set at a funny angle. He took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from the ghastly image, looking around at the surrounding forest instead.

It was a chilly morning, dew soaking the ground and the seat of Merlin's pants where he was sitting on the forest floor. A light fog misted the trees and a pair of songbirds serenaded each other chipperly somewhere above Merlin's head – perhaps flitting around in the branches of the tree that he was leaned up against. Merlin groaned slightly behind the gag in his mouth, his sore jaw really protesting against being stuffed with cloth all night long. He let his eyes continue to rove around and explore his situation.

The bandits had set up camp about five hundred paces away. The remains of their fire sat limp and charred in a circle of rocks, the dew having suffocated the flames almost as soon as it had descended upon the almost tranquil scene. Fourteen men were sprawled unceremoniously across the floor of the forest, all of them cushioned from the ground, wet, and cold by blankets. Merlin found himself wondering where the missing bandit was – there had been fifteen yesterday – when he got the strangest feeling that someone was watching him from the right.

He snapped his head around and nearly jumped out of his skin as he saw Rechrad crouched beside him, watching him with an unreadable explanation on his face. Merlin couldn't help but roll his eyes as his captor smirked. "A little jumpy, are we?" he mocked. Merlin didn't understand the man – he was mean,  _cruel_  even, but he could be almost civil at times, almost as if he was joking with his captive. He remembered the treatment he had received yesterday and all doubts about the man disappeared – he was definitely dangerous and it would be best if Merlin watched his step around him.

* * *

They had been traveling for nearly two hours now. Merlin had been allowed to eat some leftovers from the men's breakfast and relieve himself before the men had packed up their camp once more. The warlock could see the hate in the leader's eyes for him and couldn't help but wonder what it was he had done to deserve such loathing. It seemed as if Rechrad had something personal against his prisoner, not just the negative relationship between captor and captive.

Merlin was still feeling weary and drained, the potion he had been forced to take dulling his senses and keeping a lid on his magic. Gradually, though, he felt his strength begin to slowly –  _far_  too slowly in his opinion – return to him, and with it, tiny increments of his magic. He was still surrounded by fifteen men, wrists tied (that was  _not_ helping his broken hand), and magic weak. He had no choice but to be complacent.

It was late in the afternoon when they stopped and Merlin wondered what they were going to do. Part of him was hoping that they were stopping for a bit of a rest, for although he would never admit it, he was aching and exhausted. The other part of him wished they could just get where they were going, but he wasn't sure what would be in store for him there because the men had let him know nothing about what all of this was about. Rechrad hadn't spoken a word to him since they had left, still leading the rope that tied Merlin's hands together, but thankfully he had minded Merlin's bruised ribs and broken hand and hadn't forced him to do any more face plants. The ugly, bulky man, Arian, always hovered close to Merlin, shooting him nasty glares and the servant wondered just what he had done to warrant such hatred.

He was so caught up in his musings that he was caught completely off guard when a bag was shoved over his head. He let out a surprised yelp that was lost in the gag and he felt hands grip each of his upper arms, guiding him, as the rope around his wrists kept pulling. He stumbled forward, not able to see, forced to trust the very people that had taken him captive to keep him upright. He didn't like the situation – not one bit – but he realized he had little choice.

They traveled this way for about ten minutes. Suddenly he was pulled to a stop and the pressure of the rope on his wrists was gone. Breathing out a short, irritated sigh out of his nose, Merlin stayed still and listened. And what he heard surprised him.

He had heard these noises before – all his life, growing up; any small village or community he had visited. There was the sound of people talking, children laughing, the low hush of whispers and the hint of laughter on the breeze. Whatever Merlin had expected, it certainly wasn't this – something so… civilized.

He was pushed forward again and he kept as quiet as possible, his senses on high alert. His breath was hot and muggy in the bag but he could still smell a faint scent of a cooking fire. He let the men holding him guide him and the noises of the village grew louder as they approached and then faded off. He decided that whoever had been outside (quite a few people, by the sound level of the crowd he had heard only moments before) had spotted the arrivals.

He heard footsteps and a woman's voice, relieved and also a bit uncertain. "Rechrad! You've returned safely!" Her voice was soft and lilting, pleasant, almost motherly. There was a hard edge to it, though, and Merlin got the impression just from her few words that this was a woman that was not to be crossed.

Rechrad spoke and Merlin nearly jumped, not having realized that he was so close. "Yes, my dear." There was a bit of a smile to his voice. "As you can see, our venture was successful."

"That's him?" a voice chimed out and Merlin was suddenly grateful for the bag over his head. He felt his face flushing in embarrassment as he felt several new pairs of eyes on him. This speaker was also a woman but she sounded younger, maybe a teenager. "Are you sure?"

"Rechrad," the first woman said quietly and Merlin could hear the rustle of skirts as she stepped closer. "Get him inside; people are gawking. This is dangerous enough as it is, I won't have you jeopardizing this any more by parading the poor boy around like a prized hunting trophy."

Rechrad chuckled and agreed. A hand appeared at the small of Merlin's back and he heard the bandit's voice in his ear. "Keep walking boy. And don't try  _anything_."


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin was led out of the heat of the sun and into a more shaded area that felt enclosed; he decided he was more than likely in a house or shack of some kind. He was pushed forward several feet, spun around, and shoved into a chair. He felt someone take his arms and weave a rope through his elbows, tying his arms to the back of the chair. He didn't protest because he couldn't see what was going on and his magic was still weak. He had to bide his time, and he hated it. Even so, he could only wait and see what kind of situation he was in and then hopefully do something about it.

After he had been secured to the seat, the bag was ripped off of his head and he blinked rapidly to adjust to the bright light from outside streaming through the windows of the small house – if it could indeed be called a house. He was tied to a chair in the middle of a small room. The floors and walls were made out of thin, flimsy wood that couldn't be good at keeping out the weather and the roof was made from scraps of bark, wood, and whatever else they had been able to scrap together. He wondered if he was in some kind of shantytown or an encampment.

He glanced around to see who else was in the room with him. Rechrad was standing to the side of the chair, arms crossed over his chest, icy blue eyes hard and unrelenting. Standing directly in front of Merlin, eyeing him critically, was a rather plain woman, probably in her late thirties, who was pretty in her own right, but nothing extraordinary. She had mouse brown hair that fell to her shoulders and was pulled back into a loose ball at the base of her neck. Hazel eyes stared out from her creamy complexion, observing the captive in front of her without reservation. Her nose was small and pointy, lips thin and made even smaller because of the way they were pressed together in a thin line at the moment. Two of the other bandits that had helped kidnap him – a man he didn't know and, to his great displeasure, Arian, the man who had broken his hand.

The middle-aged woman spoke and when she did Merlin realized that she had been the one to talk to Rechrad earlier. "What happened to his hand?" She didn't sound worried or even terribly interested at all, but Merlin still somehow got the feeling that she disapproved of the broken hand. "I thought you wanted him in top shape for tomorrow."

Merlin's eyes darted to her face and he instinctively began to struggle against his bonds. He had no idea what they had planned for him and he sure as hell didn't plan to stick around for it, but he still wanted to know.

Merlin jumped as someone touched the back of his neck. He hadn't even heard Rechrad moving but the leader had gone behind him and was undoing the gag. When his mouth had been released, Merlin worked his sore jaw for a moment and ran his tongue over his aching teeth and dried out lips before venturing, "Where am I?"

To his surprise, he was given an answer. The woman answered nonchalantly, "You are in our renegade camp. We try to stay in one place for as long as we can to give stability to the children and old folks but as you can probably tell by the structure of your new 'home,' it's all set up so it can be torn down and packed away quickly in case we need to move."

Merlin glanced between her and Rechrad, avoiding Arian at all costs as he could feel those eyes glaring into him and it unnerved him almost as much as his daughter had. "Why am I here?"

Rechrad chuckled. "Cutting straight to the chase, aren't you?"

Merlin stared stonily back. "I have a right to know why I'm here and what you want with me."

Arian strode forward and before Merlin could blink, the man's meaty hand had crashed across his face. Merlin's head snapped to the side at the vicious slap and he noticed that none of the people present rose to his aid. Maybe he shouldn't hope for too much compassion from the woman after all. Licking the drop of blood seeping from his now busted upper lip, Merlin glared at Arian as the man leered in his face, "You don't  _have_  any rights, Emrys. You're at our mercy."

Merlin couldn't resist snapping back, "Only because you stole my magic. But when I get it back, you'll be at  _my_ mercy." He fully expected the fist to his jaw at his words but it didn't lessen the pain at the impact. His head slammed back and hit the back of the chair with a crack and he saw stars. Arian grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked, causing Merlin to wince.

Finally Rechrad intervened. "Enough, Arian. Carina was right – if Emrys is too injured tomorrow, we may not get our money's worth."

Merlin felt his eyes narrow at this new information. "So that's what you've got in mind, then?" he asked darkly. "Selling me? To who?"

The woman, Carina, shrugged half-heartedly. "We're not entirely sure yet. You wouldn't believe how many people there are that have an interest in having the legendary Emrys as their own. We've got several potential buyers coming within the next few days and whoever offers the most for you… well, your fate will be in  _their_ hands."

Merlin felt sick at this revelation. "Why would you do this?"

Rechrad took a threatening step forward. "That's enough talking," he hissed, eyes filled with the mysterious aloofness once more. Merlin gasped as the gag was stuck back in his mouth. A small grin appeared on Rechrad's face as he regarded his prisoner coolly. "Stay put," he mocked at the bound young man before motioning to the others and striding out of the room.

* * *

Finally alone, Merlin decided to see what he could do with his magic now. He closed his eyes, concentrated hard, and although the magic made him a little sick to his stomach, it was bearable. He grinned as the gag untied itself and his ropes fell off. Sighing in relief, Merlin began to try to regain his equilibrium and walk about the room a bit. He still was in no shape to fight his way out but he had to be ready for when he was.

He took another look at his hand and was appalled that it appeared much worse. Apparently being dragged along by a rope around his wrists all day had done nothing to heal the break, but only served to make it even more agitated. He thought about trying to wrap it but he honestly had no idea how, and even if he did, he didn't think he'd be able to do it one-handed. Giving up treating his hand as a lost cause, Merlin decided to try and see what his ribs and torso looked like – he was still aching horribly from the brutal kicks he had received earlier.

He was in the process of trying to pull up his shirt one-handed when the makeshift door to his prison squeaked open and two men, one burly and strong, the other lean but still muscled, strode in, holding a bowl, flask of something, and some bandages in their hands. He gulped as they glared at him. The large one snapped, "You trying to escape?"

Merlin shook his head hastily. "No. Of course not. Why would I want to leave this paradise?" He knew he was being cheeky but he couldn't seem to control his mouth no matter how much trouble it got him in.

The first man spat on the floor and glared sullenly at Merlin. "We were sent by Carina to make you a bit more comfortable, but if you want us to leave and take all this with us, keep shooting off your big mouth."

Merlin opened his mouth to respond but shut it when he saw the stew in the bowl brought for him. His stomach was growling loudly; he hadn't had anything substantial to eat in nearly two days. Glowering at his two visitors, he nodded curtly.

The second man offered him a slight smile. "My name is Matthew. I'm the unofficial 'healer' of the camp." He nodded to the giant of a man that was still staring menacingly at Merlin. "That's Deaman."

Merlin nodded again, not sure how to respond to the first person that was being halfway civil to him. He yelped as the big man, Deaman, strode forward and locked a huge hand around his arm, pulling him over to the chair and sitting him down roughly. Merlin glared at him and tried to get up. "Hold  _still_ ," the man grunted.

"I want to take a look at your hand," Matthew quickly jumped in, striding forward and nudging his "bodyguard" out of the way, crouching beside Merlin and gently taking the broken hand into his own. Merlin gritted his teeth and winced at the touch but was determined not to voice his pain. He was  _not_  weak and these men would soon discover that. Matthew clicked his tongue at the damage and chuckled sympathetically. "Arian sure did a number on you, didn't he, Emrys?"

"Merlin," the warlock quickly corrected. He was fed up with hearing his other name, a name he hadn't even heard of until the little druid boy, Mordred, had called him that three years ago. It was all he had heard for nearly two days and he had finally found someone that might actually be a bit sympathetic. He  _needed_  someone to call him by his real name.

"Emrys is not your birth name?" the healer asked as he began to poke and prod at Merlin's fingers and palm.

Merlin winced and gritted out, "I never even  _heard_  the name Emrys until I met a druid for the first time. I had no idea I had such a great destiny." He sighed, thinking about that destiny. Arthur. Would he be looking for him yet? Would he even  _want_  to after what Rechrad had said about magic? Did Arthur believe it?

Matthew stopped examining the hand long enough to shoot the warlock a sympathetic look. "Homesick?"

Merlin growled, "No thanks to you." He paused, blinking the image of Arthur and Gaius out of his aching mind. "And I'm fine, thanks."

Matthew shook his head. "I didn't expect you to be so young. Or so…" he hesitated.

"So what?"

"So… good."

Merlin's brow furrowed as Matthew began to slowly, tightly wrap and splint the broken bones, both from the pain and confusion. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Deaman, who was leaning against the wall nearest Merlin and Matthew, piped up and Merlin jumped slightly at the sound of his voice – he'd almost forgotten the other man was there. "Emrys is the name of legends," he spoke softly. "Everyone who hears of him automatically assumes he is a great, powerful, wise, old magician." He scoffed. "I still am not convinced they brought back the right person. You are none of those things."

Merlin gritted his teeth. "How would you know? You've only just met me?  _Ow!_ " he protested as Matthew poked him in the ribs.

"Sorry, I'm trying to see if there are any broken ribs," Matthew informed him.

"Rechrad said they were only bruised."

"Well, our leader isn't a healer, now is he?" Merlin almost laughed at the little smirk that found its way to Matthew's face but he quickly sobered. Matthew bit his lip. "I think I'm going to have to see the damage myself."

Merlin shook his head. "I'm  _fine_."

Matthew sighed. "Deaman?"

The huge man strode forward and grabbed the hem of Merlin's shirt, pulling it up over his head and off his body. " _Hey!_ " Merlin protested as his shirt was tossed to the floor and Matthew's chilly hands touched his chest, poking around and feeling for damage.

"Sorry," Matthew apologized while managing to sound anything but sorry. "Badly bruised, but Rechrad was right. No broken ribs."

Merlin glanced down at his torso and was shocked to see that his chest and stomach matched his hand, only more colorful. He glared at the healer and crossed his arms over his bare chest, wincing as he did so. "I told you," he muttered petulantly.

He gasped as Deaman's hand grabbed his hair – at this rate he wasn't going to have any hair left is people kept pulling it like this! – and hissed, "Show some respect – you're still the prisoner here, don't forget that."

Merlin jerked his head away from the man and faced Matthew who didn't looked fazed by the incident. Locking eyes with the man, Merlin asked, "Can you  _please_  tell me what's going on here?"

Matthew sighed and nudged the bowl of stew and the flask of water toward the prisoner and ordered, "Eat." He glanced at Deaman. "Can you go keep watch outside? We'll be fine."

Deaman looked doubtful but he nodded and strode out of the lean-to, but not before sending a fierce warning look Merlin's way. Merlin still hadn't touched his food and Matthew frowned. "Eat, and I'll try to explain."

Merlin didn't need any encouragement. He gobbled down the food quicker than he ever had before – Gaius would have been appalled by the display but Merlin had barely eaten anything in days so he thought he had an excuse. As he ate, Matthew spoke.

"Everyone in this camp, this village, used to be a druid. We all used to have the belief that all life is sacred and that magic is only to be used for the betterment of man. We fully believed in the great prophecies that foretold of Emrys and the Once and Future King that would put an end to our suffering at Uther's hands."

Merlin stared at him. "You do realize that if I'm dead or a captive, I can't help any king, once and future or otherwise, take the throne?"

"You don't understand," Matthew snapped and for the first time a dark sadness overtook his face. "The prophecies have been around for years. They were what gave the druids hope. But Emrys never came. And when word came that he was indeed living in the heart of Camelot, many were angered. He had abandoned us. Many druids still cling to the belief that you have your reasons and will fulfill the prophecy in your own time. But many of us broke away from the druids, their teachings, and their prophecies, and became renegades."

Merlin winced. "Is that why everyone here hates me so much?"

Matthew nodded, eyes far away. "They think you left them to fend for themselves, that you found yourself a comfy position in Camelot and abandoned your kin." He paused. "Arian lost his wife and daughter to the Great Purge. He blamed  _you_  for not stopping it."

"But I wasn't even  _born_  then!" Merlin protested weakly.

Matthew shrugged. "He didn't know that. No one knew who Emrys was but it was a common idea that he was, as Demaen said, a wizened and experienced wizard. Not a young man who is just learning his powers. When we found out who you really were, so young, we were shocked. I tried to persuade them to abandon this, to let it go, but they refused, claiming you would be even more vulnerable."

"Why do they want to sell me?"

"We need money. When word reached us that you were in Camelot, Rechrad drew together a large group of our people into this plot to take you. We've been planning this for months."

Merlin stared. "You've been plotting my abduction for months?"

He nodded. "Yes. We were able to contact some people that we assumed might be willing to pay money for someone as legendary as you."

Merlin paled. "Who?"

"I'm not entirely sure. We're in Cenred's kingdom and I'm fairly sure he would pay handsomely to get his hands on his own court sorcerer." Merlin's face grew even more ashen. "We may try to ransom you back to the druids but they are not a rich people, so don't get your hopes up." He pursed his lips. "King Alined, I've heard, is considering making a journey to see if you are all that the prophecies say. Apparently he disposed of his court sorcerer, Trickler, not too long ago."

"I'm not going to be sold to anyone," Merlin informed the healer stonily. "I  _refuse_. I'll escape or die trying. I'm _not_  property to be sold or bought."

Matthew shook his head. "I'm sorry, Em – Merlin. Truly, I am."

Merlin saw that he was distracted and he seized his chance. It was crazy, he knew, but he wasn't just going to sit around and allow himself to be sold like an animal, especially not to the people Matthew mentioned before. Summoning all the magic he could muster, Merlin's eyes flashed gold and without even saying a spell, Matthew's eyes rolled up into his head and he passed out. Merlin fell to his knees as the pain took him from using his magic but he pushed himself up, knowing this might very well be his only chance to escape. He slipped to the back of the small room and glanced out the window. No one was looking at the moment and he took his chance.

He rolled clumsily out of the window and landed on his stomach with an "oomph!" and his ribs screamed in pain as did his hand, although not nearly to the extent that it had been before Matthew had wrapped it. He briefly hoped that Matthew didn't get punished too severely for Merlin escaping on his watch. The man had been decent to him, had truly seemed to sympathize with him.

Forcing such thoughts out of his mind, Merlin ducked quickly behind a nearby tree when heard the sound of two people talking, walking closer to the lean-to. It was Rechrad and Carina. Knowing he had only moments, Merlin quickly darted out of his hiding place and ran as fast as his weary and battered body could go.

He didn't know where he was going or how far he would get before someone found him. As he managed to slink out of the camp unseen due to some agonizing shielding charms he had tried to place around the open areas he had to run through, he nearly passed out from the exertion and continued use of his magic.

He kept running, not looking back, not knowing if anyone was following and just hoping he'd find shelter or help soon. His magic had completely withdrawn inside of him again and he knew that he had used it too much and too quickly. He had only been running for about fifteen minutes when the pain in his limbs, stomach, and head became too much and he found himself toppling over onto the forest floor. He fought the gray mist surrounding his vision but it was no use.

Just as consciousness left him yet again, Merlin could have sworn that he heard a hazy, strained, faraway voice whisper his name on the wind.

_Merlin…_

And then his world went black.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur hadn't been fond of Gaius's idea. The physician informed Arthur that Merlin had been keeping in touch with Lancelot and Gwaine through letters (apparently when he finally located them, they told him where they were going to be next and for how long so he could still talk to them even with them frequently on the move), although Gaius also said that Gwaine's letters were more of drunken scrawls than anything, but a blessing to Merlin nonetheless. Arthur found that he was fairly surprised by this – he hadn't even thought of trying to keep in contact with the two would-be knights that had helped him so much in the past.

He smiled slightly at the news, though, because it was just like Merlin to do so. He may be an idiot, but he was a kind-hearted one all the same. He made friends easily and the people he did befriend all turned out to be men of honor, so that had to say something about the disposition of his manservant. He shouldn't have been surprised that Merlin wanted to keep in touch with his friends – if there was one thing that Arthur had learned in the near three years of Merlin being his servant, it was that the boy was nothing if not loyal. To his family, to his friends, and yes, even to his prince – although Arthur still found himself puzzling over the last one as he hadn't given Merlin much of a reason  _to_ be loyal to him. All the same, Merlin, despite Arthur always calling him a girl and a wimp, had gone above and beyond the call of duty, having even gone with him to fight a dragon.

"Great," he grinned as Gaius told him the news. "Tell me where they are from their last letter, I'll go find them, and I'll have two excellent swordsmen to help me find Merlin – it would probably be better if we travel in a small group anyway, to be inconspicuous, seeing as we'll be almost certainly heading into Cenred's realm…"

"Arthur," Gaius cut in, eyes soft but determined. "You cannot go on this mission. Camelot is at war with Cenred's kingdom and if his men find the crown prince is traveling through, you will most certainly be killed or taken prisoner yourself."

Arthur glared. "What, then, do you suggest?" he demanded coldly, the need to get moving itching at his bones. He didn't have time for Gaius's caution – Merlin had been taken away  _hours_  ago and who knew what had befallen him during that time? He could have already been sold – although Arthur fervently prayed that he hadn't because that would make him much harder to track down. It was already going to be quite a challenge.

Gaius had looked sad. "The last time Gwaine wrote, he said that he was traveling about from inn to inn, looking for work and food and drink, near the border of Cenred's kingdom. Lancelot has been far away, but has recently been traveling closer to Camelot and should be passing through the same area within the next few days. I will write letters and send them to Gwaine and Lancelot and I know they will be eager to help Merlin on their own. I'm sorry, sire, I wish there was a faster way, but you cannot risk riding into a kingdom that we are at war with."

Arthur was furious. "How can you say that, Gaius? Merlin's your  _ward_ , for heaven's sake! I've seen the two of you – you've never been happier since he arrived in Camelot!"

"Do you think I  _wanted_  this to happen?" Gaius snapped, perhaps a bit harshly as he forgot who he was speaking to. He calmed down. "Sire, I am only concerned for your well-being. Gwaine and Lancelot are unknown, they have no positive affiliation with Camelot, so they will be much safer in Cenred's kingdom."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm sorry, Gaius, but there's no way I'm not going. I'll be fine – I'll go undercover, find Gwaine, Lancelot, or maybe even both of them, and the three of us will find Merlin. He's an idiot, Gaius, and a lousy servant, but he doesn't deserve this.  _No one_  deserves to be sold like livestock."

Gaius sighed but Arthur had seen some relief in his face at the knowledge that he wasn't going to have to wait until some letters reached the other men for the rescue mission to ensue. Arthur had felt a bit guilty about accusing Gaius of not caring about Merlin when it was so very obvious that this was tearing him apart, but it had gotten the job done. Gaius had finally conceded.

Gaius wasn't done being cautious yet. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if Gaius felt that he had to point out every conceivable flaw in a plan, state the obvious to the point that it got monotonous, and then lecture and give warnings until he was blue in the face, or if he just did it unconsciously. Still, it was obvious the old physician was worried about both his ward and the prince so he let him finish. "You know your father would never allow you to ride into Cenred's kingdom to find two outlaws in order to hunt down your servant."

Arthur had smiled knowingly at Gaius. "No… but he won't object to me going on an extended hunting trip."

Gaius frowned. "You just returned from a hunt."

"Because I had to get more supplies."

Gaius observed the prince of Camelot with half exasperation and half admiration before intoning, "I suppose you are going to ask me to cover for you, sire?"

Arthur nodded. "I'll get cleaned up, gather some supplies, speak to my father, and be on my way." Gaius still looked trouble and Arthur had given him what he hoped was a reassuring grin but probably came out more as a grimace in his worried state of mind. "Oh, don't look so down, Gaius – it's mostly the truth, anyway. I  _am_ hunting. For Merlin."

As Arthur turned to leave, Gaius called him back. "Yes, Gaius?"

The old man smiled wanly and gave a small bow. "Thank you, Arthur."

Now, the next morning, Arthur scrubbed a weary hand over his face and yawned as he stumbled down the stairs of the inn he had stayed at the night before. He hadn't wanted to stop searching for his quarries when night fell, and he certainly hadn't wanted to stay in a place where one of Cenred's men could recognize him, but he had no choice – he knew the people he was searching for were in this area and at least one of them would be at an inn, as long as said inn had a tavern. If he didn't find either one of those men soon, he would just have to continue on this quest to save Merlin alone.

He stumbled down to the bar in the tavern part of the inn, exhausted and hoping something to eat would wake him up. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, caught up in his dark thoughts about what Merlin was going through and where he might possibly be, and how Arthur himself was now in danger because he had crossed over the border into Cenred's kingdom just last night… And when he  _did_  sleep, he had nightmares. Some of them were about Merlin being sold, Merlin as a prisoner, being beaten, hurting. Others were about a drunk Gwaine getting them all caught on the rescue mission. Neither dream made him feel any better and he hadn't been eager to get back to sleep when he woke from one.

He plopped down on a crudely carved barstool and winced as a drunken laugh cut through the inn.  _Who the_ hell, he thought irritably,  _gets drunk this early in the morning?_  As the answer to his question popped into his head he spun around, grinning when a mop of fluffy brown hair staggered drunkenly into his line of sight. Caught between relief and exasperation, Arthur quietly slipped up from his stool, moved across the room to where Gwaine was sitting at a table with a completely out-of-it bloke with a huge mug of ale.

Gwaine had just chortled, "—and it wasn't until after he'd exploded that I realized he wasn't my bird at all!" when Arthur (who really wasn't sure he wanted to know the first part of Gwaine's tale) came up behind him, tapped him on the shoulder, and then whispered in his ear while his companion looked on uninterestedly, "Don't say a word – they'll kill me if they know who I am." Gwaine tensed and for a moment Arthur feared the man was going to ruin everything by shouting out his name or something equally as condemning. Luckily, though, he wasn't as drunk as he sounded (or maybe he had just gotten  _really_  good at working through his drunkenness, although unless he had changed drastically since the pickled egg incident in Camelot, Arthur highly doubted it) and he nodded.

"What do you know, it's Harold!" he crowed, playing along, although Arthur rolled his eyes at his new name. "Haven't seen you in ages, have I, Harry ole pal?" He grinned at the rather bored looking fellow seated across from him. "Well, mate, it was good to meet you, but Harry and I have some catching up to do, eh?" He paused. "Oh, and eh, you'll take care of the bill, won't you?" Arthur's eyebrows rose further as the man just hiccupped and he had a feeling this other fellow was even more drunk that Gwaine and had no idea what was being said to him.

Gwaine grinned deviously and took the pitiful "hic" as a yes before saying, "Thanks, mate. I owe you one… unless I never see you again… or I forget…" He trailed off and grinned a bit too widely as the man "hicced" again.

Gwaine chuckled and nudged Arthur in the side. "Such a great guy, Robert – great conversationalist, real chatty."

Arthur shook his head and muttered, "I don't have time for this."

"Well I can see you haven't changed a bit; you're still as much of a joy-kill as you were last time I—"

Arthur impatiently snapped the one thing he knew would shut Gwaine up and get him to come with him and leave his hiccupping friend and ale. Gwaine may be… well, Gwaine, but he, too, was loyal to his friends.

Voice hard and determined, Arthur spat, " _Merlin_  doesn't have time for this."

Gwaine straightened up, all goofiness gone as he realized what Arthur was saying. Now all business he glanced around furtively before grabbing Arthur by the arm and walking hastily out of the inn, muttering, "What are you doing just standing there? Merlin needs us, stop wasting time."

Arthur rolled his eyes – he had a feeling his eyes were going to be rolling a  _lot_  on this journey. Sobering quickly, he thought of Merlin. If they could rescue him, then all the eye-rolling and exasperation would be worth it.

* * *

The first thought that ran through his semi-conscious mind was that everything  _hurt_. He wasn't sore, he wasn't aching, because that would be too mild a description. His head pounded furiously, a crushing pressure pushed against the back of his eyes, his hand was alive with throbbing pain and his ribs were even worse than before. He was sick to his stomach and his mind was racing as he tried to figure out where he was and what had happened.

Everything came back to him in a big rush and Merlin's eyes snapped open. He remembered everything – the kidnapping, the potion, arriving at the renegade encampment, attempting to escape after learning that he was to be sold to the highest bidder, and then running, running… and then someone saying his name as he passed out from using too much magic with the potion…

When he opened his eyes, there was no one around. He must have just imagined someone saying his name but somehow he felt that it  _hadn't_ all been in his head. It was more of a feeling than anything. He was still disoriented and his mind fuzzy as he tried to regain his bearings and when his vision finally cleared his hopes crashed and morale fell. He wasn't sure where he was or who had found him, but he knew instantly that it wasn't good. He cursed himself mentally for sapping up too much energy by using magic, for passing out in the middle of the forest where anyone could find him.

He thought someone  _had_  found him, though. Someone who had cried out, "Merlin!" Someone who was here to help. Apparently not.

He was in a small, dark shack of a building with no widows. The only light – dusky and dim – that filtered into his prison was through the small outline of the crack around the door. The ceiling of this new place was surprisingly tall and a wooden beam ran across the length of the room. Merlin realized why his arms were aching so badly – his wrists were once again tied together, this time brought up over his head and a length of rope was wound around his bonds and tied tightly to the beam above him so that he was, for all intents and purposes, hanging from the ceiling.

His arms weren't bearing  _all_  the weight because his feet touched the ground – barely – but he couldn't relieve his arms too much, he couldn't sit down, and his arms were suspended above his head. His mouth wasn't covered, though, and he was grateful for that. He tried to summon a little bit of magic, anything… and found he couldn't. Panic rose from his stomach into his chest and he felt sick. It wasn't just weak, but he couldn't feel it at all. He knew it was there, that it hadn't been taken from him – if it had he would almost undoubtedly be dead considering that he  _was_  magic – but that it was locked away somewhere deep inside of him.

Suddenly aware of a heavy weight on his neck, the warlock glanced down to see that a pendant hung around his neck on a long, shimmering golden chain. He couldn't make out what was on the charm in the dark but he knew that whatever it was, it was responsible for restricting his magic. He had no way of getting it off.

He was helpless.

As he stood there, panicking, mind racing as he realized that he was truly helpless now, the crack of light that lined the door grew as the door swung open, causing Merlin to squint in the light. His eyes widened as they landed on Rechrad who strode into the tiny prison and smirked triumphantly at his captive. "Nice try," he deadpanned, eyes glinting maliciously. "And how do you like your new necklace? The  _Ffrwyno Hud_  stone has been spelled by many different powerful sorcerers and restrains a person's magic inside of them… not even  _you_ can reach your magic now, Emrys."

Merlin stared him in the eyes, forcing himself not to shift under that intense, icy gaze. He was desperate, scared, and vulnerable and he didn't like it one bit.  _Never_ had he been this powerless. Anger surged within him as he saw the man that was responsible for this. The leader of the renegade camp was smiling at his suffering, enjoying it. Merlin connected the man's actions with the things that Matthew had told him before he'd escaped and realized that this wasn't just about the money – it was revenge as well. Feeling sick, Merlin forced himself to adapt a fearless bravado and spat, "Go to hell."

Before he could blink, Rechrad's surprisingly strong fist had sunk deep into his stomach and Merlin gagged, trying to curl in on himself but unable to because of the way he was suspended from the ceiling. The man backhanded him across the face and then grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of Merlin's neck and yanked viciously, pulling his head back and hovering inches over his face.

"You took advantage of our hospitality last time," he hissed threateningly, his hot breath washing over Merlin's pale, bruised face and spittle flying from his mouth. Merlin had never seen the man this enraged and knew that his escape had broken down an emotional barrier he had set up. He was beyond mad – he was livid. Snarling, he yanked Merlin's head back even further and he whimpered slightly in pain – if he pulled any harder, he'd snap Merlin's neck! Apparently they still had plans for him because Rechrad didn't pull back anymore although he still continued to glare at his captive. "I think you'll find that will not be the case again."

"You call tying me to a chair hospitality?" Merlin hissed.

The grip on his hair tightened and he did his best not to flinch. What was it with people and his hair, honestly? "You'll soon see that it was more hospitality than you deserve,  _traitor_ ," Rechrad spat – yep, definitely about revenge, too. "One more incident or smart-ass comment and I swear I don't care how much money I can get for you, I'll give you to Arian and let him extract his revenge – there won't be enough of you left to fill a thimble."

Merlin continued to glare at his captor but wisely didn't say anything else. He didn't know if Rechrad was bluffing but he wasn't about to test it right now. He was in enough trouble as it was. With a dark chuckle, the ex-druid released Merlin's hair and drew back his fist, launching it into Merlin's ribs and this time Merlin cried out in pain as his already bruised chest exploded with hurt.

Standing back and eyeing his handiwork cruelly, Rechrad finally seemed to regain control over himself. "I was prepared to let you remain reasonably comfortable, even let Matthew tend to your wounds, and this is how you thank me? I'm done showing mercy." Backing up a few steps, he concluded, "Tomorrow, you will fight for your life… and if you survive, you'll be sold to whoever is willing to pay the most. Either way, I'll never have to look at your face again." Rechrad spat at Merlin's feet and strode out of the shack, slamming the door behind him.

Merlin felt tears prick the corners of his eyes as he tried to assess his new injuries and keep a lid on the emotions building up inside of him at the realization that there was  _nothing_  he could do about his situation. He knew that Arthur would be coming for him – although he half hoped he wouldn't; he'd wind up getting himself killed – but he feared if he did come, he would be too late.

_Arthur, please…_

He didn't know what he was mentally begging Arthur to do – to come find him, to stay away to keep safe, or something else entirely. But just thinking about Arthur and the hope he represented filled Merlin with a little more warmth and he blinked the tears away. He would get through this and make it back to Camelot, to Arthur, to Gaius and Gwen, somehow. He would do it for Arthur.

_Merlin…_

His head snapped up as the voice, even fainter and more distant this time, called his name. He almost recognized the voice… but it was so blurred by what felt by layers of deafening quiet that he couldn't quite place it. "Who's there?" he whispered.

There was no answer and Merlin sank back into the dark, cold silence once again.


	8. Chapter 8

He didn't know how long he'd been there in the darkness, surrounded by walls that were too close, seeming to move closer with every moment that passed – although he knew that was just his imagination. His arms had long since stopped hurting from the strain on them and had gone completely numb which, although it had been a blessing at first, now concerned him – it couldn't mean anything good.

His broken hand had done the exact opposite, opting to hurt even more than it had been, throbbing with every heartbeat, the crushed bones splintering into his swollen flesh. He wondered if he would ever regain the use of the hand again. Maybe with magic. Then again, none of that would matter if he didn't find a way out of here. But there  _was_  no way. His magic was confined within him because of that accursed stone and no matter how hard he tried to summon it, it simply refused to respond and slowly drain him of energy. Eventually he had to stop trying unless he wanted to pass out again from the strain.

Then again, maybe passing out would be a mercy. He doubted it, though. As crazy and worried as his thoughts were when he was awake, he dreaded to think what he might suffer through in his sleep. At least awake he could reason through his fears to a certain extent. He could convince himself that there was a way out of this. That he would escape. That Arthur would rescue him. That the Great Dragon would swoop out of the air and snatch him up.

He froze. The Great Dragon.  _How_  could he have been so stupid? The thought hadn't even crossed his mind to try and contact the giant beast. With his magic restrained like it was now, he didn't even know if it would work. _Why_  hadn't he tried to summon him before when he actually had a tiny bit of access to the dragon?

Shaking his head slightly and wincing as he lost his meager footing on the dirty floor of his minute prison and swung there, suspended, for a few seconds until he regained his tiptoed hold on stability, Merlin knew that even if he had thought of calling the dragon before, he probably wouldn't have. He was in a village, he knew – a shantytown, a nomadic village, but a village all the same – and it was not just his captors here.

There were women and children that had nothing to do with this, that just went along with his capture because their village needed the money. Could he really put many innocent lives in jeopardy to save himself? The dragon wasn't known for his compassion or subtlety. If Merlin commanded him t rescue him, there was no guarantee that the people that had nothing to do with this wouldn't be put in harm's way. As much as he despised Rechrad and his followers, Merlin knew that they were only a fraction of the people here. He'd seen the destruction a dragon attack could cause. He wouldn't wish it on these people, especially since many were just innocents caught up in this mess. They may not like him, may think he abandoned them, but he wasn't going to put them in danger to save his own skin. A stubborn wave passed over him. He could find a way out of this on his own without putting the villagers in danger.

Then again, he thought, briefly pulling against his bonds and having to bite his lip at the agonizing pain that shot through his injured wrist at the action, what was the harm in trying to contact the dragon? He could always ask him not to cause any unnecessary chaos. He  _was_ in a desperate situation. He needed help. Taking a deep breath, Merlin opened his mouth with the intention of trying to quietly call the dragon… and couldn't remember the words.

A wave of fear passed over him. He'd called out to the dragon many times before.  _Why_  couldn't he remember the language? Frantically, he called out in his mind, desperate to assure himself that he was not cut off from everyone that could aid him.  _Kilgharrah! Hello? Can you hear me? Please… I need to know that I'm not alone!_

Nothing.

His abdomen seemed to tighten on itself as another wave of fear trickled through him. If the dragon had heard him, he would have answered. He  _had_  to answer considering Merlin was a Dragon Lord, which could only mean one thing – the stone on the chain around his neck effectively cut him off from every aspect of his magic, even his Dragon Lord powers.

He hung his head, breathing heavily and trying to keep the pinpricks of tears out of his eyes. He'd think of something. He'd escape. He  _wasn't_  going to be sold.

And then it came to him. What was it Rechrad had said before he left?  _Tomorrow, you will fight for your life…_

Merlin was still a little confused about that. He knew that Rechrad and his followers hated him with a passion, but he had also been under the impression that they needed to sell him for the money… so  _why_  were the suddenly wanting him to fight for his life? It didn't make any sense. Still, it might just allow him the opportunity to escape. He was pretty sure his magic wouldn't be restrained when he had to fight. They couldn't be talking about sword fighting or any other physical type of knight stuff that Arthur was so good at, considering he had a broken hand, hurt ribs, and didn't know what the hell he was doing. He would be sure to lose and then they definitely wouldn't get their money. So it had to be a magic fight. For some reason, they wanted to see him fight with magic, whether it be for entertainment or some other unknown purpose…

And that, he decided resolutely, was when he would escape.

* * *

"So… Merlin has magic?"

Arthur cast an annoyed glance in Gwaine's direction as they trudged through the Forest of Asiter. He was irritated for several reasons. One, they really had no direction to go in except the general one that the bandits had dragged Merlin in. Two, nearly two days had passed since the abduction and any tracks that might have been there had long since been trampled by animals, covered up, or were so jumbled that there was no point in even trying to follow them. They really had no idea where they were going. Three, Gwaine hadn't shut up since they'd left the tavern and Arthur had told him everything that had transpired. He was beginning to question the wisdom of including Gwaine on this quest because the man was literally driving him mad. He needed peace and quiet to think, to plan – and he  _didn't_  need constant reminders of the fact that Merlin's whole life and relationship with him might be a lie.

When he had first related everything that had happened to Gwaine, the man had been beyond furious. Gone was the happy-go-lucky, ride wherever the wind takes him man. His eyes had flashed with a fierce fire that almost had Arthur taking a step back. Almost. As it was, he found that he was just glad that the fury in Gwaine's face wasn't directed at him. He knew how Gwaine felt, though. He, too, was angry beyond measure at what these men had done to his servant, his – dare he say it? – his… well, his friend. There. Arthur had known it for quite a while and it felt good, albeit weird at the same time, to admit it to himself. But if Merlin wound up being a sorcerer, where would that put their relationship? Enemies? Somehow Arthur couldn't picture that. Then again, he was still resolutely clinging on to the hope that this was all some big misunderstanding. If Merlin did end up having magic, he really had no idea what he'd do.

"I'll kill them," Gwaine had spat. "Those sick ba—"

"Gwaine, keep your voice down. We  _are_  in Cenred's kingdom. We don't want to alert his men. They're attacking just about everyone now, and we'll be in deep trouble if they find out where I'm from and who I am." Gwaine had rolled his eyes but thankfully calmed down. Arthur had continued, "And I'm worried about him too."

His companion's eyebrows had shot up. "Well, now, look who's finally thawing out their heart of stone." He chuckled. "Never would have thought that of you. Next thing we know, you'll be proposing, eh?"

Arthur had scoffed and resisted the urge to be sick. "Ha ha. Of course I'm worried about him, he's my servant. My property. It makes me angry when someone steals something that belongs to me."

Gwaine had grinned his lopsided smile and flipped his hair. "You can try to deny it but there's no denying that you're worried because you care – he's your friend and a bloody good one if you ask me. I don't know why you're so stuck on not admitting it."

Arthur had scowled and Gwaine laughed. Arthur pressed ahead, trying to ignore Gwaine, which was where he found himself now. He didn't answer Gwaine's question initially but the man was not to be deterred. Speeding up so he was trotting alongside Arthur, he asked again, "So, Merlin has magic?"

"I don't know." His voice was short and annoyed.

"What if he does?"

"What are you talking about, Gwaine?"

"Well… what're you gonna do with him? Because if you try to turn him into your lovely father or hurt him yourself, you know where I'll stand." Gwaine's voice was hard and determined, not wavering in the slightest.

Not sure how to respond, Arthur simply grunted.

Gwaine grinned. "If he does have magic, we should have some fun after we rescue him. Do you think he knows how to fly? And if we can get ahold of a wheelbarrow, some chicken feathers, and a unicorn, we'll really have the makings of a great time." Arthur gritted his teeth. He didn't ask what Gwaine's idea of fun with magic would be. He didn't even want to know what was going through his head.

Gwaine was about to speak again, probably to inform him about what kind of  _fun_  he was talking about, when Arthur shushed him. Gwaine was indignant at first but quickly realized that Arthur had a reason to be cautious. The two men ducked in the brush and stayed silent as a long train of Cenred's knights began marching through the forest, some on horseback and others on foot. Arthur could clearly see Cenred's crest on their tunics and shields and felt a tingle of anticipation crawl up his spine like the snakes that decorated it.

In the middle of the procession, two so-called knights that were armed to the teeth with swords and knives rode on pure black steeds that pulled a carriage of sorts – but instead of a carriage, it was a cage on wheels. Arthur and Gwaine traded an ominous glance as they realized what – or rather, who – that cage was probably for.

Suddenly Gwaine nudged Arthur roughly with his elbow and pointed. Arthur's eyes widened. Riding right behind the cage was none other than King Cenred himself. Arthur felt his insides curl at the sight of Camelot's enemy but he forced himself not to move a muscle. If he had had any doubt about where this procession was headed, they had fled at the sight of the cowardly king. Anything that got the snake out of his castle would have to be incredibly important. And Arthur couldn't think of anything more important to a man waging war on Camelot than what he thought was the most powerful sorcerer to ever live.

After they had moved on, away from Gwaine and Arthur, Arthur still kept his eyes locked on the train of travelers, an idea beginning to form in his mind. Glancing at Gwaine, who had a devious little grin on his face, Arthur asked, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Gwaine quietly unsheathed his sword and grinned wickedly at the prince. "Let's go play a rousing game of 'dress up,' shall we?"

Arthur couldn't help but laugh quietly as he and Gwaine slipped out of their hiding place and begin to slowly trail Cenred and his men through the forest. When the time was right, they'd infiltrate Cenred's knights and get a one way ticket into the kidnappers' hideout. And then the people that had stolen his manservant would wish they'd never been born.

Nodding at each other, Arthur and Gwaine continued on their trek, invigorated and more hopeful than they had been now that they finally had a direction. Magic or not, Arthur was going to get Merlin back. And then… well, then, the idiot would have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. For now, though, only one mantra ran through both men's buzzing minds:  _Find Merlin._ And that's exactly what they intended to do.


	9. Chapter 9

Infiltrating Cenred's procession of knights turned out to be far simpler than either Arthur or Gwaine had imagined. For one, the so-called knights traveling with the leather-clad king were apparently so confident in the supposed security their titles gave them that they never once even looked back to see if they were being followed. Gwaine and Arthur trailed swiftly behind the group, hidden in trees and bushes without ever having a need to dart back into hiding. Even when Gwaine stubbed his toe on a tree branch that he claimed literally jumped in front of him just to trip him up and hissed a ferocious swear word that almost made  _Arthur_ flinch, not one in their quarry seemed to notice. Arthur smiled grimly as he thought about that – luck must be on their side.

Secondly, when Cenred and his men took a short break so that the men could relieve themselves and have a bit to eat – King Cenred always near his carriage with a slew of bodyguards around him – the knights were stupid enough to not have their weapons on hand when doing their business. Normally Arthur would contemplate the honor of taking a man down when he was so distracted but desperate times called for desperate measures – this was Merlin's _life_ in danger here – and Gwaine seemed to have no qualms whatsoever about subduing a man who was relieving himself. Gwaine whispered his rationale to the prince from their place in the bushes right before they made their move while Arthur listened on, impressed and amused by the man's logic.

"If we're going to pretend to be some of Cenred's knights, we're going to have to put on their clothes anyway. If we take'em out while they're doing their business, we've already got half our work done for us, am I right?"

Arthur shook his head in amusement and then as the men turned their backs, he hissed, "Now."

As one, Gwaine and Arthur sprung out of hiding stealthily and snuck up on their unsuspecting opponents, Gwaine delivering one a clout to the back of the head. Unfortunately, the crashing down of his cohort alerted Arthur's man to the danger and he spun, pulling a dagger from somewhere in his cloak, and lunged at Arthur, trousers at his ankles. Arthur reacted instinctively, knocking the knife out of his attacker's hands and swiping at him with his sword simultaneously. He fell behind his fellow.

Arthur and Gwaine quickly traded their clothes for those of the unconscious knights, helmets and all, and then stood back to admire their handiwork. "We have to restrain them somehow," Arthur commented as he glanced at Gwaine – although if he hadn't seen Gwaine don the helmet he would have never known it was him. Lucky thing, too, since it was the best plan they had. Arthur just hoped that Cenred wouldn't suddenly decide that his knights needed some fresh air by taking their helmets off. If that happened, he and Gwaine could be in big trouble.

Gwaine squatted down and rummaged around his small bag he always carried with him, pulling out a thin but strong coil of rope. "This should do it," he announced brightly as he and Arthur began to bind and gag the two men with it. He frowned. "We really don't have time for this," he muttered, knowing that any moment the signal would be made for all knights to return to the procession.

"We're  _not_  going to kill them," Arthur insisted fervently. "We took them out when their backs were turned, they had no weapons to defend themselves with. Even though they work for a pig like Cenred, these men  _are_ knights and to kill any man – especially a knight – without giving them a chance to defend themselves is severely against the knights' code."

Gwaine grunted. "Somehow I'm not so worried about honor when Merlin's about to be sold to the likes of Cenred," he grumbled.

Arthur sighed, tied his last knot, and stood up. "We'll leave our clothes here," he decided, "behind a tree. Our bags, too. Anything that will implicate us if they decide to search us for some reason."

Gwaine pulled off his helmet, a lopsided grin on his face, and in a much less muffled voice commented lightly, "Anything that will implicate us, eh? Does that mean we need to leave our faces here, too?"

Arthur rolled his eyes but didn't comment. Instead he told Gwaine to put his helmet back on and get a move on. Together the two men disguised as Cenred's knights hastened out of the trees and toward the rest of the group, knowing they were risking a lot by doing this. Neither one of them seemed to take that into account, however, as they joined with Cenred's group and nodded at the other faceless helmeted men they passed. They were risking a lot, but they were risking it for a good cause. For Merlin.

* * *

He stood outside of the small inn, muscular arms crossed at his chest, dark eyes gazing scanning the forest that bordered the place with keen eyes. He had heard rumors that a certain war-loving king was going to be passing through Esctia for some unknown reason. Apparently King Alined's visit was supposed to be a secret, but a large mouthed man at the border between Alined's kingdom and Cenred's had spotted the king and his entourage passing by and the word had spread like wildfire. Now the dark-haired young man was leaning against the outside of the inn he had stayed the past two nights in wondering if he might get a glimpse of him. It wasn't that he had any particular desire to see the grumpy king he'd heard so many negative things about, but rather that he wanted to find out more about what his mission was. He had heard a rather disturbing rumor from the bartender last night and something about it didn't set quite right with him.

"Something still on your mind?"

He jumped as the giant of a man he'd befriended and had been traveling with for the past few days came up behind him, clasping a large hand on his shoulder.

"Percival – you startled me."

Percival, a tall, broad, muscular man – bigger than Lancelot had ever met but friendly and kind hearted as well – grinned. "Now I  _know_  you're still stewing about what Thomas said last night. Nothing ever takes you by surprise."

Lancelot grinned half-heartedly. "It's just… I can't help but wonder if what he said was true… that a powerful sorcerer has been captured and that's why King Alined is coming to Esctia. There are rumors that King Cenred is on the move as well. If what the bartender – Thomas – said is true, whoever has the sorcerer is planning on selling him."

Percival frowned. "Perhaps. But how can you be sure that Thomas wasn't making things up? It sounds pretty far-fetched."

Lancelot rubbed the back of his neck distractedly, his mind wandering to a powerful sorcerer that just so happened to be one of his closest friends. But even if Thomas's words  _were_ true… there would be no way that _Merlin_  would let himself be taken, would there? Besides, it would just be too big of a coincidence. Still, if there was even the slightest chance that his friend was in danger…

Making up his mind, Lancelot spoke his decision. "Thomas said that his brother is friends with one of Cenred's knights and that he heard of the sorcerer from him. Maybe it's just a rumor but still… I want to know what's going on."

Percival hummed and ran a hand through his short dirty blonde hair before grinning. "Well, I don't know why all of this is so important to you, but these past few days have been pretty boring. Why don't we try to track down Alined's possy and find out what they're up to? I could use a bit more adventure in my life."

Lancelot smiled and this time it was ear to ear. "You don't have to come along if you don't want to…"

Percival laughed loudly before punching his friend lightly on the arm (although from Lancelot's perspective, it wasn't all that light because of the man's meaty fists and brute strength but he figured that it was the thought that counted). "Nah, I probably should come along for backup." Smirking, he added, "Little guy like you, who knows what kind of trouble you'll get into out there."

Lancelot rolled his eyes – he was by no means "little" but then again, compared to Percival… Grinning and hoping that this would all end up being a wild goose chase, that Merlin really hadn't managed to get himself into this kind of trouble, he sighed. "If you insist." He chuckled. "But any more short jokes and you'll be staying behind."

Percival snorted. "Whatever you say, little man. Whatever you say."

* * *

The Darkling Woods were quiet and dark. Night had fallen upon Camelot and the surrounding areas and covered them in a thick blanket of black countered only by the full moon and tiny pinpricks of stars dotting the sky. The silence was almost overwhelming. No animal stirred in the trees, no owl hooted to the sky. It was almost as if the forest knew that a dark meeting was about to take place.

A twig cracked as a foot fell on it. Deeper into the forest the cloaked figure swept, skirts brushing in whispers across the mossy floor. It was only when a small ball of light appeared in the designated clearing, along with the blonde woman that had conjured it, that Morgana stopped skulking and lowered her hood, revealing a pretty but pale face, long and wavy dark hair, and hazel eyes that lit up at the sight of the woman she had come out here to meet.

"Sister!" she breathed, rushing forward to embrace Morgause. She hadn't realized how much she missed Morgause until just now – being forced to act like Uther's loving ward was beginning to make her very antsy but Morgause always seemed to be able to calm her down. "You wanted to see me?"

Morgause smiled back, her brown eyes reflecting cunning and malice as she began to speak. "I have great news, sister – tomorrow a transaction will be made. A transaction that will provide us with the means and power to overthrow Camelot… well, as soon as we have control over it, at least."

Morgana's delicate brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand. What could possibly contain that much power? And what do you mean… control it?"

Morgause chuckled. "Not what, Morgana – who." At her sister's baffled expression, the witch explained, "I believe that I have briefly mentioned the name Emrys to you, have I not, Morgana?"

Morgana shrugged. "In passing." She paused. "Why are they so important to us?"

"Emrys is spoken about reverently by the druids. He is a figure of prophecy – he is said to be the most powerful sorcerer that has been, is, and ever will be. The power he holds within him is unfathomable. It is  _he_  that is destined to bring magic back to Camelot."

Morgana's eyes lit up. "And he's going to help us?"

Morgause smirked. "We're going to… speed up the process. Many of the druids have lost hope that he exists, are convinced that he is naught but a children's story to give hope to those who are at their lowest. And there are some that do believe he is out there but has abandoned them."

"But what does that have to do with us?" Morgana wondered although she was beginning to get a pretty good idea of where this was going.

"A group of renegade druids claims to have taken Emrys as their prisoner and is willing to sell him to whoever will pay the highest. We will take him and he will fulfill the prophecy – our way. Once we find a way to harness his power, we will use him to bring Uther and Camelot to their knees and a new age will begin – an age of magic and prosperity for those with the Gift."

Morgana's smile grew at these words. Still, she was concerned. "But what if they just say he's Emrys? And how are we going to pay for him?"

"Patience, sister." Morgause's eyes gleamed wickedly. "King Cenred and I have taken both questions into deep consideration and when it is confirmed that he is who these renegades say he is, he will leave in the possession of no one but us… After all, these druids just think they are dealing with the idiotic, incompetent oaf, Cenred. They have no idea that  _I_  am the one who told  _him_  to retrieve this figure of legends. They have no idea that they will have to deal with me, too." Her mouth curled up into a cruel, evil grin. "Don't worry, Morgana. By this time tomorrow night, Emrys will be ours."

* * *

They had arrived at their destination although no one except King Cenred and a handful of his bodyguards had entered the village yet. It was dawn and Arthur and Gwaine had managed to travel incognito the entire time. They had successfully infiltrated Cenred's men although both had been exceedingly frustrated at the order to stay outside of the village until they received further notice from the king.

Gwaine had tried to convince Arthur that they should sneak away from the group and find Merlin but Arthur objected. As much as they needed to find Merlin, they also had to find out as much as they could before they jumped into the middle of the flames. Hopefully by observing the goings-on in the little shanty-town from the woods outside of it they would be able to discern where Merlin was being held.

"And remember, we overheard Cenred saying something to one of his personal guards," Arthur had hissed at Gwaine during one of their "bathroom breaks" after Cenred had entered the camp. "Something about a test, a tournament of sorts. Probably to see if Merlin really is this Emrys." He snorted. "As if." His tone of voice betrayed his disbelieving words but Gwaine hadn't commented and Arthur was quite relieved. He still hadn't sorted through his feelings at the idea that Merlin might have  _magic_. "That may very well be the best time to rescue him… although I'd like to get him before then. But we just have to learn as much as we can,  _then_  strike. If we get ourselves caught, we won't be able to help Merlin, will we?"

Gwaine had pouted. "No. But I hate it, leaving him there all alone when we're this close to him."

Arthur had sighed wearily. "I know."

"Mmm," Gwaine mumbled. He tilted the visor of his helmet up and opened his mouth to speak. Just when Arthur had been sure the man was going to spout out some comforting words of wisdom, he grunted crabbily, "Now go away, I have to pee."

Arthur had been half-exasperated, half-amused. Shaking his head he turned his back just in time to see Cenred being led to a tiny shack near the back of the small town they were watching. His eyes narrowed. Why would Cenred be going somewhere that minute? Could that possibly be where Merlin was being held? He turned to Gwaine to mention this but quickly spun back around when the man, who, up until this point, Arthur had thought had no shame whatsoever, yelped, "I  _said_  don't look!"

When Arthur turned back to face the village, eyes peering through the cover of trees, Cenred and his guides – a huge, burly man that Arthur couldn't place from the distance and the orange-robed leader that had taken Merlin – had disappeared. Cursing his stupidity, Arthur wished he would have just kept watching until he saw where they had gone. They had been heading in the direction of the shack but could have very well taken a turn at it and gone into some other tent or lean-to. Frustrated, he flung his head back against the nearest tree, wincing as the helmet on his head clanged loudly at the action.

 _Dammit, Merlin,_  he mentally griped,  _Why do you have to attract trouble like flies to a carcass?_  The mental analogy did nothing to quell his growing worry or ease his churning stomach. Sighing wearily, the disguised prince sank down onto his haunches and vowed not to take his eyes off of the encampment again until he knew exactly where Cenred had gone. Even when Gwaine joined him a few minutes later and he heard the shuffling about of some of the other men, he didn't avert his gaze.  _Merlin, you idiot,_  he continued to grouse in his head, _when we get back to Camelot, you are going to have a_ hell  _of a lot of explaining to do… and then as a welcome back present, you'll get to clean the stables_ and  _scrub my floors…_

Slightly cheered by the thought of Merlin complaining about chores, Arthur let new hope fill him and he and Gwaine continued their watching in silence.

* * *

_Merlin…_

Merlin's eyes snapped open as he jerked to awareness. He had heard it – he  _knew_  he had! Hadn't he? Still disoriented, Merlin tried to shake his head to clear it before realizing that it wasn't a good idea. Nausea consumed him at the attempted movement and his head pounded. Everything _hurt_. His hand, his arms, his ribs, and his stomach was aching and throat dry and sore. After his attempted escape yesterday, he'd been given nothing else to eat  _or_  drink. He doubted he could keep it down anyway.

Groaning, he shut his eyes again and tried to relieve a little of the pressure from his arms and wrists by regaining his tiptoed footing on the earthen floor of his tiny, dark prison. He could still feel the stone on the chain around his neck, weighing heavily on his neck  _and_  his heart. He was powerless. And he was scared. There was no denying it.

He had lived through some truly terrifying situations, battled fearsome creatures and powerful priestesses of the Old Religion. He had been poisoned, bound with chains, but never –  _never_  – had he been this utterly  _helpless_. His heart pounded as he wondered how long he'd been asleep. Judging by the soft light coming from the crack around the door and the muggy chilliness in the air, it was either early in the morning or nearing dusk.

His mind flitted back to that voice. He had heard it again. He was sure of it. He still couldn't place it and every time it flickered through his mind it was abruptly cut off. He knew that he should recognize it but something was keeping him from it. Was it the restrictions on his magic? Sighing in frustration, Merlin's head jerked up as bright morning light suddenly flooded his small prison and three figures ducked into his prison, barely fitting in. The door slammed shut but the light remained and Merlin was confused until he realized Richrad was there – along with Arian and a man that he didn't recognize but who sent shivers up and down Merlin's spine – and that he had conjured a bright ball of light to illuminate the shack.

The man Merlin didn't recognize stepped forward even though there was hardly any room for him to step  _to_. The result was that he was so close to the dangling, battered warlock that their noses were only inches apart. They studied each other for a few moments. This man was about Merlin's height. He had shoulder-length black hair and a stubbled chin. His eyes were dark and malignant, gleaming with a lust for blood and power and a fierce greed that made Merlin's blood run cold. He was dressed in all tight leather and Merlin couldn't help but wonder distantly if he had gotten wet and the leather had dried up – and shrunken – in the sun or if he just thought the skin-tight clothing made him look intimidating. He was intimidating, alright, but it wasn't because of his attire – but rather the malevolent glare and razor sharp sword and dagger set strapped to his hip.

Finally, after allowing his eyes to run up and down Merlin in disbelief, he addressed the two men that had accompanied him although his eyes did not leave Merlin's face. Merlin forced himself not to look away from those black, soulless pits as the man's eyes bored into his. He hated feeling this intimidated, this helpless. " _This_  is the all-powerful wizard you've been dangling in front of my face for the past several months?"

Merlin couldn't help but feel a bit offended. Was it really that hard to believe that he was a powerful sorcerer? Irritated, injured, and sick of being pushed around, Merlin found that he couldn't stop his mouth in time to prevent commenting dryly, "Always the tone of surprise."

There was a moment of silence and then the visitor's greasy hand had grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks between his strong, calloused fingers. Merlin let out an involuntary hiss of pain as the fingers pressed the bruises on both sides of his face from where Arian had hit him when they'd taken him and the one on the other side where Rechrad had slapped him yesterday. The man smiled sadistically and it was obvious he was enjoying himself. This was the kind of man that  _relished_  being evil. Merlin wondered if he wasn't a little bit crazy, too. Crazy and evil – always a terrible combination.

He had no further time to contemplate the matter, though, because his attacker squeezed harder, causing a choked cry of pain to escape his lips. With a smirk, the leather-clad man gripped Merlin's chin tightly in one hand and turned his face to the side. Eyes glinting maliciously, he held Merlin's head still by his chin and with the other hand gently pressed his fore and middle fingers into the darkest shadow of the bruise on the side of the captive's face.

It hurt, but not enough to make Merlin verbally respond. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain throbbing on his left cheekbone. He wasn't going to give the man the pleasure. He heard his voice mutter, "Hurt, does it?"

Sighing in relief and opening his eyes when the man backed up a step, Merlin warily eyed the newcomer as he addressed Rechrad. "He's a scrawny brat and much too mouthy, but if he is who you say he is, you won't go unrewarded."

Rechrad smiled darkly before stepping back and observing Merlin critically. "Oh, yes, he  _is_  Emrys, King Cenred." Merlin's eyes grew wide and fear threaded into his heart as he realized just how powerful this vile man was.

Arian joined in the conversation as he took a step closer to Merlin, one hand on his strained shoulder and Merlin wanted nothing more than to shake it off. "And within the hour, my lord, he's going to prove it."


	10. Chapter 10

A little less than an hour later, Arian and another burly man he hadn't learned the name of but whose arms were about the size of tree trunks entered Merlin's improvised prison. The light from the sun was blinding and he squinted, turning his head to the side. They didn't give him time to get used to the brightness, however, and before he could see straight once more he felt something pulling on his wrists and realized that they were fiddling with the other end of the rope hoisting him up, the part that was tied off on a beam above him. He wondered how they managed to reach so high to untie the knots before remembering that they had magic.

He braced himself, knowing what would happen when the ropes were untied, but nothing could fully prepare him for the sickening lurch as the weight was taken off of his numb arms and deposited completely to his legs, which crumpled below him, not used to having to support the weight of his body anymore. He cried out in pain as he landed on his broken hand and his vision, which had just adjusted to the sunlight outside the prison, blurred from the pain.

Not given any time to recover, he was yanked up by his collar, his hands still bound together at the front, and then pulled out into the sun. He blinked rapidly as he was pulled through the camp by the rope around his hands. He had been tied up in that dark place for what felt like weeks but in actuality was around two days and the cool breeze on his skin and the sun shining down on his aching body was a blessing despite his battered condition.

He knew what was coming – he was going to be forced to fight someone, apparently to prove who he really was. Of course, if he showed that he  _was_  Emrys, they would try to contain him and sell him to whoever paid the highest – from what he had been able to discern from tiny snatches of conversations between his captors, it was between Kings Cenred and Alined, the latter of whom Merlin had met once before, very briefly, but who had still managed to make chills crawl up the warlock's spine at his cruelty. He remembered how the man had forced his jester – his sorcerer – to run, chained to a horse, to run all the way back to their kingdom after Trickler's failed attempt at creating a war between the four kingdoms. He knew the man was a cold-hearted person and didn't relish seeing him again. And Cenred… well, from what he'd seen of Cenred, he'd already decided that had been enough. He had no desire to get anywhere near the tyrant ever again.

As he was led to an arena that had been erected on a great clearing of grass right outside of the shantytown, Merlin made sure to try and conserve whatever energy he had left. He was going to fight, yes, but not to prove he was worth buying. He was going to fight and escape. These men may have ways of subduing his magic, but once the stone was off his neck, he would really show them what he could do. They didn't seem to understand just how powerful he was, or what all he could do. Perhaps their confidence had been bolstered by taking him so easily. But now that Arthur was nowhere nearby, there was nothing they could do to stop him from unleashing his power and escaping. Also, from what he'd seen and heard, he had found no indication that his captors knew he was the last dragonlord. This, too, was going to be a major advantage.

He was going to escape or die trying – and he had no intention whatsoever of dying. Invigorated by the prospect of escape, Merlin focused on keeping his remaining strength and gathering his magic inside of him, limping along behind his captors with no resistance whatsoever. He would be docile for now. But when the time came… he'd be ready.

* * *

Arthur and Gwaine were both relieved and nervous when Cenred arrived back on the border of the small, makeshift village and announced that they were to go to the arena on the other side of the camp. He ordered them to all be on guard because the sorcerer might try something and once they had purchased him, they were going to keep him subdued at any cost, any way possible, short of killing him. As he assembled his knights and told them of this, he added, "I'm not sure that these sorcerers are correct in their claims that this is the mighty 'Emrys' of Druid legends. He's nothing but a boy, a stupid, cheeky, stubborn boy."

Arthur leaned over to Gwaine and couldn't help but mutter, "Sounds like Merlin, alright."

The blood seemed to drain out of his face at Cenred's next words. "Don't worry, though – if he is who they say, we'll soon beat the defiance out of him." The army erupted into bouts of cruel, dark laughter and Gwaine and Arthur reluctantly joined in so as to keep up the pretense, both of them seething inwardly.

Arthur could have sworn he heard Gwaine mutter, "Like hell he will," amidst the sadistic laughter but it could have been his own angry thoughts pushing their way to the surface.

Before they had begun the march to the arena, a cloaked, slim, feminine figure had stepped out of the trees and Cenred nodded at the newcomer, eyes gleaming in appreciation. "Ah, you are here at last, my lady," he said in a soft voice dripping with desire. "I was beginning to believe that you were going to leave me to deal with the sorcerer on my own."

A voice echoed out from beneath the cloak and Arthur thought it sounded familiar although he couldn't quite place exactly where he'd heard it before. "Please, Cenred, without me you'd have no way of containing such power, even with your so-called knights."

The king looked a little annoyed at this but didn't disagree as his lady friend lifted delicate, white hands and pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing a face Arthur remembered all too well, luscious blonde locks that fell down her back, and cold, calculating brown eyes. Morgause. He stiffened but tried not to show his sudden discomfort although from the feel of Gwaine's elbow suddenly in his side, he figured that his friend had noticed.

Arthur tried not to stare at her. He remembered the last time he had seen her very well – she had used her magic to conjure an image of his deceased mother – an image that he had thought to truly be her. She had seemed so real and had told Arthur terrible things about his father, unspeakable lies that had nearly driven him to spilling his father's blood. If it hadn't been for Merlin…

He snapped out of his dark memories at the thought of his servant. He couldn't let the appearance of this enchantress make him forget why he was really here – to help Merlin. No one, not even a powerful sorceress like the witch standing regally next to Cenred, was going to stop him from rescuing his manservant.

Suddenly he felt eyes on him and he glanced toward Morgause and saw that her dark eyes were looking right at him. He forced himself not to move, not to look suspicious in the slightest. There was no way she could know that he and the man standing to the side of him were imposters. She couldn't know that he was really Arthur, the prince of Camelot. After a moment or two she looked away and he sighed in relief behind the helmet that obscured his face.

Cenred and Morgause led the procession of knights, two of them driving the cage-carriage, to the arena where some makeshift stands had been hastily set up. On one side of the arena sat the gruff, gray-haired King Alined and his possy. Arthur felt anger surge within him as he realized that the man had no intention of keeping the peace treaty he had signed with Camelot and the other two kingdoms last year. He had known that the man hadn't been thrilled when the treaty was signed but he didn't think that the man was so backhanded as to go behind Camelot's back and try to purchase a sorcerer on the black market. Of course, there was no evidence that he planned on using this Emrys to rise against Camelot, but it was a pretty safe bet that he wasn't interested in using him to enforce the peace.

As Cenred and Morgause sat in the best seats in the arena and the knights followed suit, Arthur noticed the withering glare Morgause sent Alined's way. Apparently she had no intention of letting this other potential buyer make off with her prize. He had a feeling that she was the one who was really in charge here, not Cenred, although the man may have given into the delusion that he was the one who wore the pants in whatever kind of relationship the two of them had. From the determined, greedy, fierce look on her beautiful face, Arthur knew without a doubt that she would go to any measures to get Merlin – no, this "Emrys" they thought he was.

Of course, Arthur wasn't going to let either party buy his servant. Arthur and Gwaine were going to rescue him. Their plan wasn't very detailed or even very good at all, but it was the best they had. As long as Merlin was able to hold his own in whatever kind of twisted "game" these men had in mind –which Arthur wasn't convinced that he would be able to, even if he  _did_  somehow have magic – and he wasn't in too much immediate danger, they planned on stealing away with him, still disguised, after Cenred had started off with him. Otherwise, they were going to have to take their chances and use the element of surprise, hopefully grabbing Merlin and then running like hell, only fighting when they absolutely had to, all to preserve energy and health. They weren't going to win against this many enemies. When coming up with their so-called "plan," both Arthur and Gwaine had pointedly ignored the fact that many of these enemies had magic and could probably stop them with a word.

And then Arthur's thoughts were taken away from their terrible plan (because really, that's what it was – terrible) at the sight of a small group of the bandits, led by the leader that Arthur remembered so clearly from the forest, leading a weary prisoner into the middle of the arena. Arthur heard Gwaine suck in his breath beside him and took an even closer look as Merlin as the men led him even nearer. He had never been this angry at anyone in his life as he saw the state his servant was in.

Merlin looked exhausted. He was paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes. His face was severely bruised on both sides, his cheeks sunken in and lips parched. He walked a bit hunched over himself and Arthur could tell by the way he moved that he had hurt ribs. He was walking with a bit of a limp. His arms were tied in front of him with a thick rope and blood was seeping from the raw wrists. Arthur didn't know how the rope could have rubbed them that raw unless he had been constantly straining against them, which led Arthur to the conclusion that they had hung him by his wrists, a realization that only made Arthur want to kill them more. When he saw Merlin's hand, he had to force himself not to leap into the arena and throttle the group of bandits where they stood. Merlin's hand was swollen almost beyond recognition, mottled with bruises of all colors. His wrist was set at an odd angle and the fingers were puffy and stiff. Arthur had seen some nasty breaks in his time, but this had to be one of the worst. And if they had strung him up by the wrists even after seeing the state of his hand…

He forced himself not to think about it, not to acknowledge the agony written on Merlin's face. They had been brutal to Merlin and they were going to pay for it. Gwaine was stiff beside him and he knew even with the helmet obscuring the man's face that he was glaring murderously at the men who had done this to Merlin, all the while trying to make sure he was alright. The two watched as pain-dulled blue eyes roved around the area, taking in the faceless knights, cruel kings, and then they froze on the form of Morgause, who, Arthur realized, was staring back at the servant with shock and anger on her face.

* * *

Morgause didn't know what she had expected Emrys to look like. Maybe he was an old man with a flowing white beard, crinkly eyes, and an overlarge moustache. Or perhaps he was middle aged, portly, and pockmarked. He might have even been young and impressionable, with big scared eyes. What she hadn't been expecting, however, was just who was led from the town into the middle of the arena.

It took her a minute to recognize him because he was so utterly pale, bruises marring his once blemish-free skin. And his eyes… they were cold, hard, determined. Angry. Defiant. Not big, stupid, and scared like she had always seen them to be. She felt her anger rise as she saw the pitiful excuse for a person barely able to stand, wobbling on unsteady feet.  _Merlin._ The boy who had poisoned Morgana. They thought that  _he_  was Emrys? But surely not, they had to be mistaken.

They  _were_  mistaken, weren't they?

She felt Cenred's questioning eyes on her, knowing that the king was baffled by her reaction. But she didn't look at him, mainly because she was looking at Merlin. And then seconds later, Merlin was looking back. His blue eyes widened and she noticed that he instinctively started pulling at the ropes binding his hands. She almost smiled. There was no way Merlin could be a sorcerer, especially such a powerful one as Emrys was. Still, she was determined to get this prize regardless. She and her sister had a rather sizeable grudge against the prisoner before her, and they had just been offered the perfect chance for revenge.

What a productive day this was proving to be.

* * *

Merlin knew what was going to happen. He had vaguely heard Rechrad's voice speaking to him, telling him the "rules," if a sport like this had any such thing. He hadn't really been paying attention. He had been shocked to see Morgause there. He should have seen it coming since he had known ever since the plot to make Uther go mad via the mandrake root that Morgause had allied herself to King Cenred. He couldn't believe that he hadn't realized that wherever Cenred was, Morgause would more than likely be nearby. In his defense, though, he thought a bit glumly as he absentmindedly tugged at his bonds, causing pain to shoot up both of his arms but especially the injured one, after being beaten and left without any nourishment for nearly two days, hanging by his wrists in a pitch black claustrophobic shack, he hadn't been at his intellectual best.

He was surrounded by five men – Rechrad, Arian, two men that he didn't know by name, and Daeman, who had accompanied the healer, Matthew, to check Merlin over. Merlin was surprised to see the latter and found himself glancing around the surrounding crowds for the only man that had been civil to him, Matthew. He eventually spotted him talking urgently to some of his fellow ex-druids. Merlin realized suddenly that he hadn't seen any of the women or children at the arena. He suspected that the "civilians" had been ordered to stay in their houses. He was glad; he didn't want any innocents to get hurt on his account. He realized that Matthew was glancing at him, gesturing in his direction and then talking with his hands. Merlin figured that he was probably trying to convince them to let him tend to Merlin's wounds but his fellows were having none of it. Matthew met his eyes and gave a small, sad shrug. Merlin inclined his head slightly, grateful for the gesture.

He heard Rechrad talking again and turned his attention away from the healer that had been trying to help him. The leader was telling the men their instructions. They were to attack Merlin with everything they had, force him to fight back. They incorrectly assumed that Merlin was going to try and stay safe by pretending he  _wasn't_ Emrys and that they were going to have to attack him to make him react. Little did they know that playing "innocent" was the last thing on his mind.

The leader's hands reached forward and started untying the ropes around Merlin's bloodied wrists. He could have loosened them with magic much easier but when he squeezed Merlin's injured hand in the process, Merlin realized, wincing, that he had another reason for doing the job himself. "Showtime," he hissed before stepping back and slapping Merlin brutally across the face, splitting his already swollen lip. Blood trickled from the wound but he held the man's gaze. He was so intent on remaining strong and refusing to back down that he didn't notice one of Alined's knights nearly rising to his feet at the action, although the man beside him did and hastily pulled him back down to his seat. Meanwhile, two of Cenred's knights tensed at the open display of violence toward the young man in the arena. Merlin wasn't aware of either actions, though – although someone else did, their brown eyes gleaming as their suspicions were confirmed.

And then the chain with the stone restraining his magic was taken off of his neck and he instantly felt his magic return to him. Before any of the men surrounding him had a chance to even  _think_  of a spell, Merlin's eyes had flashed a brilliant gold and a great surge of energy erupted from within him, hitting every single man in the chest and flinging them back against the flimsy arena walls, unconscious. Maybe even dead. Merlin didn't know and at the moment he didn't care to find out. What he cared about was getting the heck out of here.

The others had caught on to his plight, though, and sought to block his way. His eyes flashed gold again, no spell needed, and the sky grew dark. The heavens rumbled as did the earth. Every man that was rushing at him began to slow down unwillingly, their legs moving like they were in quicksand. They might as well have been – with every step they took, the earth swallowed them up a little more. A crack of lightening split the sky and Merlin thought that that might have been a little too much but he hadn't exactly thought this whole spell out – he had just gathered up the most powerful magic he could muster and unleashed it with a flash of his eyes and a great surge of magic.

They were beginning to panic now. The knights, the druids, even the kings. He saw two of Cenred's knights and two of Alined's running starting forward but he didn't direct his spell at them. He didn't know why, but something stopped him. The way they moved seemed familiar. They weren't running away but they weren't trying to do him harm, either. Merlin wasn't sure how he knew; he just did.

And then suddenly  _she_  was there, her cloak billowing around her and eyes flashing as she caused a great tongue of fire to shoot out of her outstretched hands with a few words toward Merlin. Merlin responded by quenching the flames with a powerful wave of water that nearly swept her away. She shot a few bolts of energy at him and he blocked them, adrenaline pumping and magic giving him the strength to keep up this display of magic despite his injuries.

Then everything went terribly, terribly wrong.

He was about to send another spell Morgause's way when she began to laugh. Merlin had been so focused on sparring with her that he had lost his grip on the elemental spells he had cast and that had been keeping the knights and druids at bay, although many of them were still stuck waist-deep in the ground. The sky was clear and blue again and the whole clearing was a mess of flames and destruction. Luckily the camp hadn't been touched although the damage seemed to circle around it for several feet. Merlin realized that they must have put a protective spell over their little town to keep it safe.

He turned to face to see what Morgause found so funny and froze. Cenred's men had converged on two of their own, pinning their arms behind their back as they struggled vainly to escape. Cenred strode in front of the two of his knights that were being restrained. "You will go with us willingly, let Morgause restrain you  _and_  your magic, and you will not cause any more trouble," Cenred spat, "or I'll kill these two."

Merlin snorted in laughter. "You're going to try and force me to comply by threatening your own knights?"

"No," Morgause strode forward gleefully, pure hatred in her gaze as she glared at Merlin, "We're going to force you to comply by threatening your  _prince_."

She waved her hand, flashed her eyes, and smiled wickedly as the helmets flew off the two prisoner's heads. Merlin's jaw flew open as he saw Gwaine, eyes narrowed as he glared at Morgause and Cenred, and Arthur, eyes wide and furious although the anger didn't seem to be directed at him. All Merlin could think was,  _I just did magic in front of Arthur. Powerful magic. He knows. Arthur knows._

And then the rest of what Morgause had said sunk in and he realized what a desperate situation he was now in. After all that, he was just going to be taken prisoner again? He was touched that Arthur wanted to rescue him but if it hadn't been for him being here, Merlin probably could have escaped. Now Arthur was being used as insurance that Merlin complied again.

Knowing there was only one course of action he could take, Merlin glowered at Morgause, not about to let her cherish the despair he felt flowing through him. Even as he raised his hands above his head in an act of surrender, he called out with his mind, not wanting to let them know that he had one more trick up his sleeve. As he felt hands grasp him once more he barely felt them as he scanned the skies, hoping beyond hope that the dragon had heard him and was on his way.

If not… well, he thought miserably as he, Gwaine, and Arthur were herded out of the arena and into the woods by knights and ex-druids alike, led by Morgause, her head held proud, if not… he really didn't want to think about it. Now it wasn't just his life on the line anymore – there were his friends to think about, too. He knew that Morgause had no intention of letting Arthur or Gwaine go now that she had them – Arthur was a valuable prisoner and she could use both of the captives to try and control Merlin. They were truly in a horrible situation.

Merlin cast his eyes to the empty sky once more before he felt the stone being slipped over his neck again. His magic, along with his remaining strength, dissipated as soon as the stone was in contact with his body again and he fell forward into the arms of his captors. Blackness obscured his vision and he lost consciousness.

Perhaps if he had not passed out, he would have noticed what Arthur and Gwaine had realized as they were marched along. He may have even puzzled over what was going on or why this was happening. But as it was, Merlin was completely oblivious to the two knights of Alined (who had left in a huff, realizing he was no match for a sorceress like Morgause and that he wouldn't be getting anybody today, magical or otherwise) that were following quietly behind, slipping through the trees, not letting the procession of prisoners leave their sight.


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur was in a daze – an emotional coma, if you will. He was barely aware of his wrists as they were shackled tightly in front of him and then secured to one of the bars of Cenred's cage-carriage that they had been herded to after trekking through the druid camp as prisoners of Morgause and the king. No one had said a word after the pendant had been put back around Merlin's neck, causing him to collapse into the arms of two of Cenred's knights. One of them had slung him roughly over his shoulder and marched ahead of the prince and his accomplice and although an angry growl had formed in Gwaine's throat at the sight of his best friend being treated so roughly – not to mention his already badly battered condition.

Now they were at the cage, several of the ex-druids, Merlin's original kidnappers, standing off to one side, watching with sharp eyes as Cenred and Morgana prepared the prisoners to leave the camp. The kidnappers were obviously waiting to get paid their ransom. One of the men, Arthur noticed vaguely, was eyeing them with something akin to concern. Maybe even regret. He was the same one that had been talking to the leader before the "tournament." Arthur wondered where this man's loyalties lied. Not that it mattered.

Gwaine was being secured to one of the bars on the opposite side of the cage. Arthur realized how this was going to work. While Merlin – or Emrys, or whoever the hell the idiot was these days – was going to be  _in_  the cage, he and Gwaine were going to be chained to it, forced to walk – or run, depending on how fast Cenred planned on making the horses go – alongside it to their destination. It was not a prospect that the prince of Camelot fancied but he found that it wasn't the most prominent issue in his mind. He couldn't seem to stop thinking about Merlin's display of magic.

 _Merlin had magic._ No, Merlin had  _powerful_ magic. Arthur had heard the sorcerer's words before he and his men had dragged Merlin away in the forest. The man had said he had magic. But Arthur hadn't believed him. Not really.

When he had asked Gaius about it, the man had seemed reluctant to answer and hadn't confirmed nor denied the possibility of Merlin having magic. Arthur had gone on this quest –  _willingly_  – all the while knowing that there was a distinct chance that Merlin used magic. Not only that, but if he  _was_  Emrys, that he was the most powerful sorcerer in existence, the one prophesied by the druids to bring magic back to the land. He had known that it was a possibility. That he could very well find out that Merlin was a sorcerer on this journey. But he hadn't  _really_ believed it.

Or maybe he had and just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. Hadn't he always said that there was something different about Merlin? Something that he couldn't quite put his finger on? Something that made him different from all the other servants? His loyalty, yes, but there was always something else there, perhaps something that fueled the loyalty. Could it have been his magic?

But… magic was evil. That was what his father had always told him, what he'd grown up believing to be as much of a fact as "the sky is blue." And if Merlin was the wizard destined to bring magic back to Camelot, did that mean he was bent on seeing Uther's death? The fall of Camelot so he could rebuild it the way he wanted?

But that just didn't make sense! Merlin had saved his life more times than he probably knew – hell, he'd saved Uther's life. He'd stopped the prince from killing his father in a fit of rage and grief. He'd convinced Arthur to put down the sword, had saved the kingdom, saved the king. The kingdom and king that every other sorcerer wanting to bring magic back to Camelot sought to destroy. Arthur just couldn't comprehend it.

And Merlin was… Merlin was beyond powerful. Arthur had watched, dumbstruck, as his supposedly helpless servant had called shaken the earth, made the ground come alive and half-swallow his enemies. He had made the sky turn black, lightening split the sky. He had blocked blasts of pure energy from the powerful sorceress Morgause and had spat fire from his hands. His eyes had turned a pure, liquid gold and he had flung many men away from him without even uttering a spell. Arthur had never seen anyone this powerful and it scared him.

He blinked and was startled out of his disturbing reflections as he heard the clanging of chains and the squeak of a cage door opening and his head snapped to the side. He saw Gwaine through the bars of the cage and the two watched, solemn, as the short, stocky,  _strong_  man – the one that had hit Merlin in the forest, Arthur recalled – quite literally  _threw_  a limp Merlin into the cage. His head hit the bars at the back and a slight groan made its way past his parted lips, but otherwise he did not stir.

Morgause strode forward, her face as beautiful as Arthur remembered but far more hateful as she glared at Merlin lying motionless in the cage. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if the witch had some sort of personal grudge against the servant – the  _sorcerer_  – from the way that her eyes burned with intense hatred at the sight of him.

Morgause hissed, " _Rwymo ef_." Instantly, the chains on the inside of the cage began to slither toward Merlin, binding his arms to his sides and his legs together so that he was tied up, the chains attached to the bars of the cage on either side. Now all three of the captives were bound to the cage. Arthur had a feeling that they weren't going anywhere any time soon.

"Come, Cenred," the witch ordered.

Cenred ordered his knights to move. The procession started forward. The leader of the ex-druids stepped forward, eyes flashing dangerously. "Where do you think you're going?"

Morgause stepped forward, her cloak falling from her head as she did so. "We are taking  _Merlin_ and leaving your stinking camp." She eyed Merlin in a way that made Arthur's stomach clench and Gwaine hiss in anger from the other side of the cage. "We have some unfinished business with this  _boy_. And the prince of Camelot is a very nice bonus, indeed."

One of the men's eyes widened. He stepped forward even as the leader hissed, "Matthew, what are you doing?" To Morgause he demanded, "I hope that you are not planning on leaving our humble abode without  _paying_ King Cenred."

The king snorted but before he could respond, the one called Matthew spoke up. "You know his name? You know he is Merlin?" His eyes narrowed. "You  _know_  Merlin."

Gwaine spoke up for the first time and Arthur wanted to smack him for drawing attention to himself, but honestly, he had expected the man to lose restraint on his tongue long before now. "How do  _you_  know Merlin?" the would-be knight snapped, causing all eyes to turn on him.

"Yes," the leader said slowly. "How  _do_  you know ' _Merlin_ '?"

Matthew sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't – not really. I… we spoke when I went to tend to his wounds. He said he didn't want to be called Emrys. He wanted someone to call him by his true name." He paused before stepping forward another step. "And I learned something else while I spoke to him as well." He glanced at Arthur and then looked away, but to the prince it was like the man was speaking to him.

"We were wrong about him. Just because he is Emrys doesn't mean he's not someone else as well. He is a good man, better than we ever gave him credit for. He has a good heart, and he is loyal to his prince. We were angry that he spent his time as a lowly servant, protecting Camelot. But he is protecting Arthur. He is loyal to his cause, to his prince. He wants to see magic return to Camelot, but only through peace, with the Once and Future King by his side." Arthur let the words wash over him. He didn't understand all of them but he knew what the man was saying – that Merlin was Merlin, no matter what secrets he held. And Arthur knew in that moment that he would protect Merlin from his father if they ever got out of this. This  _Matthew_ was right. Merlin was loyal to Arthur. Arthur would be loyal to Merlin as well, sorcerer or not.

He remembered how Merlin had given up as soon as he had seen Arthur was threatened. He had been winning – he could have continued to fight but he gave himself to protect Arthur. Arthur's gut clenched as the full implications of their situation became clear to him. Merlin could have escaped. He would have been able to fight his captors off. But Arthur and Gwaine had interfered, trying to help, but in actuality they had  _hindered_  Merlin.

Oh, hell. Merlin was chained up in a cage, re-captured and restrained after just getting free, because of  _him_. He tried to push down the guilt but found it was extremely hard to do as he looked at his servant. The servant that was, at this moment, beginning to come to, blinking owlishly. Arthur and Gwaine both looked at him. He groaned, tried to move, and then saw Arthur looking at him. His expression was terrified and he whispered, "A-Arthur…"

Arthur knew that Merlin was remembering what had happened, what Arthur had witnessed. He wanted to tell Merlin that it was okay, that he wasn't going to turn him in, but Morgause didn't let him. She spoke, her tone irritated and impatient. Apparently she had had enough idle chatter. "Enough," she hissed. "Cenred, give these fools their reward. We have the real prize, don't we?" She smirked and Merlin tried to draw himself taller but was restrained by the chains. "We have Emrys." Her gaze fell on Arthur. "And Prince Arthur."

Cenred scowled even as he threw a large purse of gold – more money than Merlin had probably ever seen in his life – at the leader, who caught it automatically, still gazing at his companion, the one who had spoken up for Merlin, darkly. "And here I was hoping you'd whisk us away from this hole so we wouldn't have to pay."

Morgause stared him down. "Let these swine enjoy their slop," she breezed airily, quirking an eyebrow at the leader of the ex-druids, almost as if daring him to protest her biting words.

The leader of the magical bandits glared at the sorceress but had the better sense not to make her angrier. Instead he jerked his head back in the direction of the village. "We have what we came for. Let's go. Matthew, come."

"No."

The leader stared at the healer. "What?"

"I said no. I've seen enough of the bond between Prince Arthur and Em – Merlin – to know that we were wrong. I've told you how I feel, and I have faith in the future that will be. I am not leaving them to die. I will stand with Merlin and Arthur and…" He trailed off, looking questioningly at the other chained man.

"Gwaine," Arthur, Merlin, and Gwaine intoned in unison.

"Right, him," Matthew said. He looked the leader square in the eyes. "I'm staying, Rechrad."

"Then you will die," Cenred hissed. Morgause hummed her agreement, her eyes as cold as ice.

"So be it," scoffed Rechrad. "Come, Arian." He and the burly man behind him, along with the other couple of men that had accompanied them, began to walk away but not before stopping in front of the defector. "You're no better than Emrys, Matthew. Lying down, protecting those that would just as easily see you dead. You're a traitor to magic." He walked to the front of the cage Merlin was in, glaring daggers at the chained sorcerer. "As are you,  _Emrys_. Have fun." He spat in Merlin's face.

He turned to stalk away, only to find himself face down on the forest floor, courtesy of Gwaine's foot stretched out in front of him. "You shouldn't have done that, mate."

Rechrad clambered to his feet. His hand outstretched in Gwaine's direction, he began to incant a spell. "NO!" Merlin roared.

Morgause stepped forward, cutting Rechrad off. "Leave him. He may prove to be useful to our cause." She smiled knowingly at Merlin's revulsion at seeing his friend threatened.

Rechrad sneered and lowered his hand. "Not worth my time," he spat. He and his followers left the clearing for their camp, the sack of gold with them. They were gone and Arthur was able to breathe a bit easier – but not much. Just because there were several less people to fight didn't mean that the three of them, chained and powerless as they were, had any more of an advantage against Morgause, Cenred, and the slew of knights that he and Gwaine had mingled with for a while before they'd gotten caught.

A weak voice cut through the tense silence. "Let them go."

Morgause spun to face Merlin, her eyes gleaming furiously. " _What?_ " she hissed.

"Let Arthur, Gwaine, and Matthew go," Merlin said, a bit louder, the chains around him clinking against the bars of the cage as he tried to move.

"Merlin, old friend, we're not going anywhere without you," Gwaine responded, glaring Morgause down cockily. "Really, your pretty lady friend has done us a favor – if we're locked to you, you won't go running off out of sight. You  _really_  do have a bad habit of getting yourself into messes, don't you, mate?"

Merlin shook his head, ignoring his friend's jest. His eyes lifted up to the sky as if he were looking for something. Whatever he was searching for, if he was indeed searching for anything at all, must not have been there for he looked back down, his gaze determined. "Morgause, you know that I'm Emrys. You know how powerful I am. And you  _know_  that I will fight you with every step if you try to take me away. But if you release Arthur and Gwaine, I'll go with you willingly."

Morgause smiled wickedly. "You are willing to betray Camelot to save his life?"

Arthur stared at Merlin, hoping that that wasn't the case. Merlin shook his head slowly and Arthur felt a wave of relief was through him. He had just almost come to terms with the fact that Merlin was a sorcerer. He didn't need any more confusion about where his servant's loyalties lie. "I said I would go with you willingly. Not that I'd cooperate with you whenever we get there."

Morgause's eyes turned gold briefly as she spoke some evil-sounding words. Merlin's face instantly crumpled from the pain and he began to writhe in the chains holding him. "I will teach you respect, boy!" the witch hissed. The warlock's friends yelled in protest. Arthur's heart was pounding. Merlin had been through enough already – why couldn't they just leave him alone? Merlin cried out, twisting in the chains, as Morgause's face turned wild with the ecstasy of torturing someone that she apparently hated passionately, for whatever reason.

"Stop!"

Arthur and Gwaine spun as far as they could with their hands chained to the cage. Matthew, for his part, managed to turn despite the crowd of knights around him. Morgause cut off her torture spell in surprise, staring at the newcomers. Merlin knelt in the cage, panting, his face pale and sweating.

"Merlin," Arthur hissed, even as he stared at two of Alined's men that had apparently been following them since leaving the arena, "Merlin, stay with me. You're alright."

Merlin took a deep, sobbing breath that broke Arthur's heart. It hurt to see someone as strong as Merlin had been in the encampment so vulnerable, especially when he could have prevented it by letting Merlin handle it on his own. He ignored the little voice in the back of his mind that insisted that this was all his fault.

"Merlin, you're alright, mate, we're here." He could here Gwaine muttering quietly to their friend on the opposite side of the cage although he was pretty sure Gwaine was still eyeing the newcomers suspiciously as well.

"Who are  _you_?" Cenred asked disdainfully.

One of the knights removed their helmet. He was a huge man, taller than Arthur and Gwaine, strong, and serious. Arthur had never seen him before and he was confused as to why this stranger would be interested in helping them. Then the man who had originally spoken tugged his helmet off and everything came into clear focus.

"Lancelot?"

Merlin's voice was tight with pain as he looked at his friend, dazed.

"What the  _hell_  are you doing here?" Arthur demanded, his mind spinning at the sight of Lancelot. What was it with the man always popping up when Arthur was trying to rescue someone? "And who's that?"

Lancelot didn't answer. His eyes were on Merlin. "Merlin, my friend, I—"

"Look out!" The dark-haired man spun at Matthew's yell. Cenred's men began to attack and with Merlin, Arthur, and Gwaine restrained it was three against a hundred. Not to mention that Morgause had powerful magic.

Matthew directed his attention to Merlin and Gwaine, who were struggling frantically to escape and join the fray, and yelled, " _Dorri'r cadwyni!_ " Nothing happened. He tried again. This time, their chains broke and they joined the fight, grateful their swords hadn't been taken from them when they had been captured. Stupid move on Morgause's part, really, but she hadn't thought they would be able to escape to draw them.

She was wrong.

"You... have magic?" Merlin asked slowly as Matthew cast a few spells to try and protect Gwaine, Lancelot, Arthur, and the other man that were fighting the black-clad knights.

"Only a little. I'm sorry, I'm not powerful enough to break your chains. But..." he reached forward, through the bars, straining to reach the pendant that was containing Merlin's magic, hanging around his neck. Merlin, realizing what the healer was trying to reach the magic-repressing cord around his neck leaned forward as much as the chains would allow.

The battle wore on, but the fighters were getting tired and they were vastly outnumbered. Gwaine was bleeding from a gash in the arm and Lancelot was barely holding off his man. His companion was fighting berserkly, as was Arthur, his face contorted in rage and concentration as he attacked and slashed and defended, but even he was beginning to lose ground. There were just too many.

"Ahhh!" One of Cenred's knights let out a savage yell as he ran past, sword raised. Merlin watched, helpless, as the man's sword was aimed at Matthew.

"Matthew!" he choked out, trying to warn the man that had befriended him and was risking everything for him.

He was too late. The enemy's sword plunged into Matthew's side as the battle roared on around him. Merlin saw it all like it was a dream. Matthew fell, blood staining his clothes as the weapon was pulled out. At the last moment, his hand curled over the chain around Merlin's neck and it broke as he topped backwards to the ground, taking the cursed chain with him.

Merlin's magic was free, but at a terrible price.

With a shout of anger and a flash of golden eyes, Merlin's chains disinigrated and the door to the cage flew open. He rushed to Matthew's side, intent on trying to heal the man who had risked everything to save him, but was intercepted by an invisible force slamming into him, throwing him violently across the clearing where he crashed into a tree, head first, and flopped down at the base, limp. Morgause, having used Merlin's distraction at trying to help the healer to her advantage, lowered her hand and smirked. Merlin's weakness for his friends would surely be his undoing.

Arthur let out a yell of rage and Gwaine began to fight even more frantically despite his wounds, trying to get to his unconscious friend.

Arthur watched in horror as Gwaine fell to his knees beside Merlin, whose head was already bleeding heavily from a massive gash at least an inch long above his right eye. The skin was already beginning to bruise. Arthur fought off a few more attackers frantically, blinking tears out of his eyes as he saw Gwaine gently pulling Merlin's head into his lap in his perifrial vision. He had never seen the man so solemn, so quiet. He feared what it meant for Merlin. For all of them. Merlin had been their only hope.

"Merlin? Merlin!" Gwaine's voice was panicked. Lancelot and his man had rushed to stand between the gravely injured warlock and the attacking army and Arthur was grateful for their help.

He felt his heart sink at the terror and pain in Gwaine's voice. Gwaine was so cool-headed when it came to danger. His dramatic reaction could only mean one thing and it tore Arthur's heart to think about it. He automatically blocked another attack, all the while trying to fight off desparation. For Gwaine to react in this way, it meant that Merlin was too badly injured, maybe even dead already.

_No! This isn't happening!_

But it was. Merlin was dying. They were losing the battle. Soon they'd all be dead or captured. And it was all his fault.


	12. Chapter 12

He knew there was a problem long before he was in range of the battle.

He had had a feeling – a strong, urgent feeling – that something was very wrong for several days. Being the immensely powerful creature that he was, he knew that it wasn't just something to be pushed aside. Something was happening, something magical. There had only been a handful of times when his magic had reacted this dramatically to something that he, himself, even as a wise and seemingly all-knowing being, didn't understand. And nearly every one of those previous times had involved his dragon lord in some kind of danger.

The most recent time his magic had responded to his situation was when he was attacking Camelot. He supposed, in hindsight, that attacking the place and people he had told the young warlock to protect hadn't been the best idea. He hadn't cared at the time, though – all he cared about was getting revenge on the man, on the _real_  monster, that had imprisoned him in a cave for twenty years, who had taken everything he had, betrayed his dragon lord and his kind… the man that had ensured that he was indeed the last of his kind – Uther Pendragon.

It was during one of his flyovers of Camelot that he had felt it – his magic had gone crazy, sending waves of warning throughout his massive, scaled body. This was a magic, a connection, that even he had no full understanding or control over. This was an ancient magic, a magic from before the dawn of time, that spawned the almost intimate mental connection with dragons and their lords. It had been that magic that had warned him of the dragon lord's peril.

And then it had gone. As swiftly as the feeling had come, it had disappeared, but not without shooting a wave of pure sorrow and pain through the dragon's heart. He had known, without a doubt, that Balinor was dead and a new dragon lord, his son – the young warlock, who Kilgharra had always known to have the potential to be a dragon lord – had been created. And so the bond between Merlin and the dragon, between Emrys and Kilgharra, had been made stronger. The same Magic that had existed between the dragon and Balinor for all those years of banishment and imprisonment was now thriving between Merlin and the dragon.

When the dragon had nearly been overwhelmed by this same feeling, this same warning, he had known without a doubt that something was wrong with the young warlock. He was in danger – perhaps not mortal danger, not yet – but in trouble all the same. Kilgharra had tried to call out to him, not unlike the way he had for the first two years the boy had been in Camelot.

_Merlin… Merlin… Merlin…_

Sometimes he would feel a little flicker in a small, obscure corner of his ancient mind – a desperate attempt by Merlin to connect with the dragon but he was unable to. And Kilgharra could find no way to form the connection between his and the young warlock's mind. Something powerful – and old, apparently, if it was strong enough to weaken the bond between dragon and dragon lord – was blocking his way, and the dragon had _not_  been pleased about it.

He had taken to flying through the air, keen golden eyes searching for any sign of the young warlock, whom he knew was in danger. He had found none. And then, finally, just hours before, he had felt the call of the dragon lord, stronger than it had ever been, and he was compelled beyond all logic to follow it. He knew where his warlock was.

He had flown faster than he had in a long while toward a small druid encampment in the forests of Cenred's kingdom, Merlin's orders still in his mind.  _Do whatever you can, but DON'T hurt ANYONE innocent._

Obviously, the Once and Future King, along with his knights, were some of the people that Merlin didn't want hurt under any circumstances. This was the problem he realized as he grew closer to the clearing where the battle was going on, landing surprisingly quietly not too far away. He had seen the battle from above and knew that if he were to unleash his wrath on Cenred's army and the witch Morgause, that Prince Arthur and the others would almost certainly be killed because everyone was so mixed up in the fight.

He was all but helpless, restrained by Merlin's orders. Just as he tried to reach out with his mind to the warlock again, although the connection had once again been severed, the feeling that something was very, very wrong coursed through his magic and raced through his veins. He knew then that Merlin was dying – but as long as there was breath in his dragon lord's body, he couldn't go against his orders, which meant that he could do nothing.

It was all up to Merlin now and considering that the life was slowly but surely leaking out of him by the second, that might prove to be a bit of a problem.

* * *

The only thing he knew was pain.

It consumed him, maybe it even  _was_  him. He didn't know who he was, how he had gotten there, or why he hurt so, so badly. He was in a world suspended between life and death, a limbo of pain and torment. Maybe he was in hell? But no, that couldn't be right…

For one, he hoped that he had never done anything bad enough to warrant going there. And another thing… he could still hear… something.

He couldn't comprehend what was around him. He could hear a low hum in his ears and his head hurt… at least he  _thought_  it was his head but the pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he wasn't sure he could tell what was what anymore. He felt something warm and sticky sliding down the side of his face. His head was moving but he wasn't doing it – or was he? He couldn't tell.

He was barely aware of anything. He was on the line now, on the edge of the cliff, hovering precariously between dark and light, life and death. He knew he would not be here long. His life was slipping slowly away…

_Merlin…_

The voice was in his head; it was too loud… too loud.

He groaned, or tried to, but only a pathetic whimper made it past his lips. He could hear someone saying _something_ , his head moving as whoever it was shifted their position under him. The hum became a roar in his ears and he thought his head was surely going to split open.

_Merlin… You have to wake up… You have to end this…_

Who was this  _Merlin_  the voice in his mind kept talking about and why didn't he look for him somewhere else? His gravelly voice was really loud and disrupting his rest… Disrupting  _Merlin's_  rest…

Oh. That's right.  _He_  was Merlin.

And then it all came back to him.

It a flood of memories that nearly made him get sick on whoever was holding him, he remembered everything. He remembered the hunting trip with Arthur going terribly wrong, getting kidnapped, drugged, tied up, and beaten… Taken to a place deep within the forest and kept in a hellish, tiny darkness for days… The fight… Morgause… Arthur and Gwaine… and was he dreaming, or had Lancelot been there too?

And… Arthur knew the truth, didn't he?

His mind positively reeling, head hurting more than he thought was possible, he rushed to a new level of awareness. The roar in his ears became the clash of swords, the yelling of men in battle, the squelch of blood and scream of metal against metal. He could hear voices yelling, the sound of magical energy shooting out from somewhere, and then a very familiar voice.

"We can't keep this up! They've got us outnumbered, Sire!"

Ah. So Lancelot  _was_  there, then.

And then – "We'll go down fighting!"

Arthur?

He heard a chilling voice, a feminine snarl that brought his nightmares alive. He felt himself began to tremble as Morgause spoke, pure power emanating from her words. "You are a fool, Arthur Pendragon. And now you will die."

"NOOO!"

He hadn't even realized the word came from his mouth until he was on his feet, eyes open and magic keeping him upright, power and adrenaline like he had never felt coursing through every fiber of his being.

He heard gasps and someone touched his shoulder but he shook it off, his eyes, blurred by the blood spilling over his eye and down his face, locked on the image of Arthur being held by seven of Cenred's men while the cowardly king himself stood off to the side, smirking. Morgause, brown eyes shining in triumph, held a sword over Arthur's head, smiling darkly. "This will break your father's spirit – and pave the way for a new ruler," she said ominously. Arthur looked confused but Merlin, even in his state of mind, knew that the witch was talking about her half-sister, Morgana.

"NO!" he yelled again, his voice rising as he watched the witch prepare to kill the prince, his best friend. "Leave him. Alone." His voice was filled with more raw, unbridled power, rage, and hatred than it had ever been before. His eyes were blazing, his heart palpitating erratically behind his rib cage. His pain was momentarily gone, his weakened and gravely injured body aided by his magic. But he didn't think of himself. He only thought of Arthur, of Gwaine, of Lancelot, Matthew, and… whoever that other man fighting with Lancelot was. Morgause was going to kill them, to kill them all, and Merlin couldn't let that happen.

He  _wouldn't_  let that happen.  _Not_  to his friends. The voice in his head had been right. He  _had_  to end this.  _Now._

* * *

Arthur was going to die. He knew it more positively than he had ever known anything.

He was being restrained by seven of Cenred's – or rather, he thought,  _Morgause's_  men, because it was obvious that the king  _thought_  he was the leader but it was painfully clear just who was  _really_  in charge here – men, forced to kneel on the ground. The fight was going on around him but he hardly paid it any mind. They were outnumbered, just as Lancelot had yelled out moments ago.

And then the fighting all but stopped. He glanced around, confused, until he saw that everyone had been subdued in one form or another. Lancelot was being held by five men, bleeding from a gash in his shoulder. The man that had accompanied him was lying on the ground, unmoving, blood trickling slowly from the back of his head. Arthur couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

Gwaine didn't need to be restrained. Arthur felt his heart sink as he saw the normally stoic, happy-go-lucky man kneeling on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his arm. Merlin's head was in his lap and Gwaine was half holding his friend, slowly rocking him. Arthur didn't even think Gwaine was aware of the motion. He was too focused on Merlin.

Merlin, whose right side of the face was masked in blood. The wound above his right eye wasn't slowing in its blood loss, despite the now soaked neckerchief Gwaine had stripped from the man's neck and used to try and stem the flow. Merlin's face was as white as – if not  _whiter_  – than death, the bruises on his face in stark contrast with the ivory of his unmarked skin. His face was so pale and gaunt and there was just so much  _blood_ , spilling down his face, into his eye, dripping off the end of his nose and trickling into his mouth. And he wasn't moving.

A jolt of horror shoved its way through Arthur's heart. Merlin was already dead, wasn't he? No one could survive a hit to the head like that, and even if they could, there was no getting over that much blood loss. That must be why Gwaine was looking so broken, so defeated, as he slowly rocked the fragile, battered, bloody body of his friend back and forth, back and forth on the bloodstained ground.

And then Morgause was talking. "You are a fool, Arthur Pendragon." Arthur's eyes lifted and he met her brown ones, filled with evil and hatred and lust for power. Cenred was standing behind her, the snake, sneering like he had just single-handedly defeated the small group of his enemies. Arthur wanted nothing more than to spit in the man's smug face.

His eyes caught a glimmer of light and he looked up to see that Morgause had a sword held high in her hands. The deadly tip was hovering over his head as he renewed his struggles, snapped out of his grief-laden daze. Tears of futility and loss filled his eyes but he didn't let them spill over. It was like he had said to Lancelot. They would go down fighting.

For Camelot.

_For Merlin._

The sword was glowing now, glittering sinisterly with Morgause's dark magic. This was it. He knew it. He was going to die, his friends were going to die, Merlin was going to die – if he hadn't already – and there was absolutely  _nothing_ the prince of Camelot could do about it.

For the first time in his life, Arthur Pendragon was completely and utterly helpless to save himself and those he cared about. He hadn't just failed Merlin, he thought bitterly as the sword was raised higher, ready to finish the job.

Morgause spoke again. "And now you will die."

"NOOO!" the agonized scream resounded through the clearing, into the trees, and through the very air. Arthur's head snapped around to face the source of the scream, as did everyone else's, and an innumerable amount of eyes widened at the sight of Merlin standing tall next to a bewildered but rather relieved looking Gwaine, his fists bunched at his sides and blood streaming in rivets down his face. The boy's right eye was completely obscured by the blood from the wound but his right eye – Arthur sucked in a breath at the sight – his right eye was blazing  _gold_.

Merlin spoke, and when he did, a terrifying power resonated from his mouth. His voice was barely recognizable as that of the goofy, happy-go-lucky servant Arthur had come to know and trust. "NO!" the warlock all but shrieked. Arthur felt his knees weaken and he would have collapsed onto them if he hadn't been forced onto them already. So much  _power._

"Leave him," Merlin said sternly, a level of authority in his voice that not even Arthur had ever been able to muster, "alone."

There was no arguing with that tone but apparently Morgause didn't seem to get the warning – or she didn't care. Or maybe she even thought that she was strong enough, powerful enough to overcome the warlock before her – even though he was not only prophesied to be the greatest wizard of all time but had shown an incredible display of his powers earlier. It had only been Arthur and Gwaine's presence that had stopped him before. From the dark glint her brown eyes and the way she looked from Merlin to Arthur, it seemed that she was going to try this again.

"If you don't back down," Morgause warned, her voice portraying much more calmness than she probably felt, "I will have your prince and his little band of merry men  _slaughtered_."

The hands on Arthur tightened but to the prince's surprise, Merlin only laughed – but this wasn't the amused, joking laugh of an embarrassed servant that just fell down a flight of stairs and dropped his master's dinner in the process. This was the angry, cold laugh of a man that has seen far too much and suffered  _far_  too much in too little time.

"I'd like to see you  _try_ ," he all but challenged. "I'm warning you not to make me mad, Morgause. You  _will_  regret it. I can promise you that."

His visible eye flashed even brighter than it already was and suddenly there was a white light that shot from outstretched fingertips. Arthur gulped as he saw the magic heading straight for him.

When the light touched Arthur, though, he didn't feel scared anymore. Instead he felt warm, secure, and safe. He felt the hands holding him let go and he gasped as he realized that his hands were glowing. His  _hands_  were _glowing!_

In actuality, his whole body had been engulfed by the strange white light and what was more, so had Gwaine's, Lancelot's, the mystery man's, and even Matthew's still and bloody form. Arthur realized what Merlin had done. He had used his magic to put a shield over his friends. A wave of brother-like affection swept over Arthur then for the selfless young man standing across the clearing. Even on the verge of death, even when harnessing an unearthly power, Merlin was thinking of others first, the self-sacrificing idiot.

And then Merlin's hand raised again, his eyes flared a deep, rich gold. A bolt of lightning crackled from his open palm, shooting straight for Morgause, who redirected it with a flash of her own eyes and a few frantic words just in time. She stepped forward, blonde hair flowing behind her, eyes livid and wide. Cenred no longer looked smug but instead was trying to look brave while in actuality was hiding behind several of his knights who looked equally as terrified.

Everyone, friends and enemies alike, watched as Morgause conjured a great streak of flames that formed into the likeness of a great serpent and slithered through the air toward Merlin. Merlin didn't even lift a finger as his eyes flashed again and the fiery snake was consumed by a great wave of water that shimmered into existence out of thin air.

"I warned you, Morgause," Merlin said, venom lacing his voice as he addressed the woman that had hurt him and nearly killed all of his friends, "not to piss me off. Well guess what? You have done it now."

"I think she pissed him off," the shielded Gwaine stage-whispered in Arthur's general direction and despite the severity of the situation, the prince had to fight not to laugh. The look on Morgause's face was borderline terror. She seemed to just be grasping  _who_  she was dealing with. Gone was the weak, cowardly serving boy she had continued to see Merlin as even after learning his true identity. In his place was a beyond-powerful figure of legends.

"Emrys," she breathed, voice hitching and Arthur was quite pleased to hear the stark horror in her voice. "You really  _are_  him."

"Yeah," the bloodied, beaten, and thoroughly ticked off Merlin growled, golden eye showing no hint of humor. Arthur felt a chill of fear sweep through him although he knew that he had nothing to fear. Merlin had shielded his friends for a reason. They would make it out of this okay. Because Merlin was loyal. Arthur had no doubt about that – not anymore. "How about that?"

Morgause's left eye twitched and then she screamed, "Attack! Kill him! Kill them  _all!_ "

They charged for the warlock but not before he had screamed a jumbled mess of nonsense at the sky.

Arthur was confused as nothing happened and the army kept charging at Merlin.

 _That's_  when the dragon – the dragon that Arthur had killed, nonetheless, although it was painfully clear now that the prince  _hadn't_  actually killed the beast – swooped in from the heavens and soared to Merlin, landing behind the warlock. Morgause, along with the entire army, and even the Arthur and the allies that were conscious, took a step back at the sight of the massive scaled monster glaring murderously down on all of them.

"What?" Morgause almost whimpered, her bravado all but gone but fury still burning in her eyes. "But I, I don't—"

"Didn't I tell you?" Merlin asked in an all-too-innocent voice. "I'm the last dragon lord."

Morgause snarled. "Lies!" she shrieked, obviously out of control. "Attack them! Kill them!"

Not many of Cenred's men did as they were ordered, though. Instead, they turned tail and ran like the cowards they were. The dragon didn't pay them any mind, turning his attention to the witch. Cenred had begun to flee with his men and Morgause hadn't done anything to stop him. A few brave but utterly stupid soldiers ran toward Merlin and the dragon. The beast stepped forward, the ground shaking with each step, and extended its great head. Its tremendous maw opened, revealing more teeth than Arthur had ever seen in one mouth before, and blew out a cloud of deadly flames that stretched almost as far as the eye could see.

Arthur felt panic rise in him as the flames billowed closer to him and his comrades, consuming everything in sight. He didn't know what was happening to those it touched or whether anyone was able to get away. The dragon was ruthless.

Trees were burning, smoke was billowing in monstrous quantities, and there were screams of fear and pain. And not one flame licked Arthur.

It stopped.

Slowly the smoke cleared and Arthur looked around to see the destruction wrought by the dragon. It was great. Everything within at least a mile was burned to a crisp. Many of the soldiers had managed to get away and there was no sign of Cenred or Morgause anywhere – which meant that the witch had probably used magic to help them escape. But strangely enough, Arthur couldn't seem to care about that at the moment.

Merlin had just saved them all. He had fought Morgause and won, and summoned a bloody dragon. A  _dragon!_ And all after having been injured to the point of death. He held a scary, ridiculous amount of power and yet all Arthur could think about was how he had saved them all.

Speaking of which…

Arthur rushed forward, mindless of the dragon, not even noticing that the shield was gone, that he was no longer glowing.

Merlin was still standing when he got closer, his visible eye a dull gold, turning bluer by the moment. Arthur watched in horror as his friend, the man who had just saved them all, toppled forward with not so much as a whimper. Arthur lunged forward and caught his servant just in time, appalled at how much worse he looked now.

Just how much power had Merlin used to save them, anyway? And  _how_  had he had the strength to do what he did?

Whatever the reason, be it his magic or sheer stubbornness alone, it didn't matter right now. Arthur heard the sound of his friends gathering around him. He still didn't know if Matthew or Lancelot's friend had come around yet, or if they were even alive. All he saw was the bleeding, unconscious man in his arms.

 _Dying_.

And then Merlin took one last shuddering breath…

His chest fell still.


	13. Chapter 13

"Merlin?" Arthur's voice was tight with fear and pain as he cradled his broken servant to his chest. He knelt where he had caught Merlin, the warlock limp in his arms. The others were gathered around and somewhere above them the dragon watched but Arthur barely took in any of it. His heart felt like it was going to burst. This could  _not_  be happening – not after everything that Merlin – that they  _all_  had been through – over the past few days. It could  _not_  end like this!

"Is he…?"

Lancelot's grief-stricken voice snapped him out of his disbelieving daze. Arthur fumbled to find Merlin's wrist but his hands were shaking so much that he could barely keep a grip on the thin arm, let alone find a pulse, if there even was one to find.

"Here, let me," said Gwaine, and he, too, knelt, his dark eyes more serious than Arthur had ever seen them. He wondered vaguely if Gwaine would ever smile again if Merlin died. He wondered if  _he_  would ever smile again if Merlin died. Sorcerer or not, Merlin was his friend. Arthur only wished he could have realized this sooner.

Gwaine's hands were not much steadier than Arthur's, but he managed to feel around until he gave a little sigh. _This is it,_ Arthur thought, his mind and body going numb,  _he's gone. Merlin's dead._

"He's got a pulse – a  _very_  weak one," Gwaine announced grimly. "He's barely breathing – see? And there's way too much time between each breath. I –" His voice broke. "I don't think he's going to make it, Arthur. I'm sorry."

Forcing himself out of his state of shock, Arthur gently reached out managed to pull Merlin's already loose neckerchief away from neck, using the material to try and stem the flow of blood still gushing from the open wound above his eye. This reminded Arthur scarily of the wound that Morgana had obtained when she had fallen down the stairs a few weeks ago.  _She_  had made a remarkable recovery, Arthur thought desperately. Maybe Merlin would too. Gravely injured as he may be, Merlin was still alive – there was still a chance. Arthur grasped onto the ray of hope, no matter how miniscule, and Arthur clung onto it like it was a lifeline.

"Then we still have a chance at saving him."

He looked down at the boy in his arms, the neckerchief already soaked through with blood. Merlin's blood was on Arthur's hands now and he tried not to think about it. Instead, he strove to keep the tears out of his eyes. Half of Merlin's face was still obscured with blood and he was so still, so silent.  _Silent as the grave_. He looked like he was dead already, his breathing so slow it hardly looked like his chest was moving at all.

"You have no chance."

Everyone, save for Merlin, who was still out cold, jumped at the powerful, rumbling voice from high above them. Arthur managed to keep a grip on his servant even as he jerked his head up to glare at the dragon. If he hadn't been so distressed and distracted by his dying friend in his arms, he may have been a bit more shocked that the dragon could actually  _talk_. Instead he shot the reptilian beast a withering glare and snapped, "You don't know that."

"Oh, but I do, young prince," the dragon argued. Arthur started to protest angrily, but the dragon cut him off. "There is nothing  _you_  or any of your knights can do to save the young warlock – but there  _is_  something  _I_  can do."

Arthur started to get annoyed as he looked up at the enormous beast. "Then  _why_ didn't you say so in the first place?"

The dragon didn't answer but instead extended its long, scaly neck so that its head, twice the size of Arthur's whole body, easily, was parallel with the prince and his servant. Arthur instinctively pulled Merlin's body closer to him. He heard several swords being drawn behind him and he was grateful for the backup, although he sincerely hoped it didn't come to a fight. Merlin was apparently the last dragon lord, and if that was truly the case, then he was the only one who could control the dragon. Seeing as Merlin was in no position to be giving out orders – ha, there was a thought;  _Mer_ lin giving out orders – they could only hope that the dragon was loyal enough to Merlin that it would help him even when Merlin hadn't asked him to.

"Peace, knights," the dragon reprimanded from where he crouched – although none of the men he was addressing actually  _were_ knights – in front of Arthur and Merlin, those ancient golden eyes never leaving the latter man. "I mean no harm to the young warlock – like me, he is the last of his kind. The bond between dragon lord and dragon is something no mortal can ever begin to understand."

A pang of jealousy rose up in Arthur unbidden and he pushed it away, annoyed. He forced his pride aside and quelled the fear at being so close to such a dangerous, powerful,  _magical_  being. Somehow the words of assurance that had come from the dragon weren't doing much to ease his nerves – perhaps it had something to do with the countless number of teeth sharper than his sword or the intense magical aura surrounding the creature. Even though Arthur's view of magic had been radically shifted over the past week, a part of him still felt unsafe being around a creature with this much magic. Then he remembered Merlin's enormous display of power earlier, how he had almost single-handedly defeated Cenred's army.

He wouldn't be at all surprised if  _Merlin_  was as powerful with his magic as this giant dragon. Although the idea made him a bit uncomfortable, it didn't even begin to make him want to change his mind about Merlin.  _We've put too much into saving your lazy backside to lose you now, idiot_ , Arthur thought as he watched Merlin's barely breathing chest.

"Please," Arthur said, " _help him_."

"Place him before me and stand back," the dragon ordered.

Arthur hesitated, unconsciously pulling Merlin closer. The dragon noticed and snapped none too patiently, eyes glinting with warning, "I cannot help him unless you bring him to me. And if he dies, I  _will_  hold you and your knights responsible." The threat was more than clear in the dragon's voice. Arthur looked down at Merlin's bloodstained face and hair and the white pallor of his skin. Slowly, he nodded.

"Someone help me," he grunted and Lancelot, Gwaine, and Lancelot's friend all surged forward and assisted Arthur in lifting Merlin. The four men laid Merlin gently on the ground in front of the dragon before backing off. Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot all hesitated to move away from their dying friend but complied with the dragon's orders slowly.

They watched, eyes wide, as the dragon's mouth opened. Arthur unconsciously reached for his sword and heard the screeching of metal against scabbards as the others did the same. The dragon had promised that it would not hurt Merlin but right now it looked as if it was about to swallow him whole. Arthur's entire body was tensed as he watched the dragon lean forward before taking in a deep breath and spewing a misty fire over Merlin's prone body.

When the odd mist had cleared, Merlin didn't look much different than he had before. Half of his face was still covered in blood and his eyes were closed, but his broken hand was as good as new and his skin  _did_  look less pale. Gwaine glanced almost accusingly at the dragon. "Why isn't he better?"

"Magic is a double-edged sword," the dragon said, whipping its great head around to face Gwaine, who did a little hop-step back and then made a show of trying to look like he hadn't been phased at all. "It must not be used for everything, otherwise the balance of the world would be in chaos. If it were not for my power, Merlin would be dead right now. In that way, he is  _meant_ to be dead. He is too important to lose, however, and I could not let him die. Just as I healed the Lady Morgana enough, I have done with Merlin. It would not be wise to tempt fate any further."

Arthur's mouth fell open. " _You_  healed Morgana?"

"I gave Merlin the spell to heal her, yes, although I warned him to do so would be a mistake."

A fierce fire lit up Arthur's eyes and he took a brave (or stupid) step forward. "How can you say that? I – the whole kingdom – would have been in turmoil if she had died. She's like my sister."

The dragon laughed darkly. "I am well aware, young Pendragon," it said silkily. Its golden eyes moved to Merlin, still unconscious, and it said, "Take care of him – if he dies in your care, I  _will_  come after you."

Arthur caught onto the double meaning. If he turned Merlin in to his father, there would be hell to pay. The other three watched in silence as Arthur dipped his head. "I will not let anything like this happen again, I promise."

He started to turn away, to Merlin, when the dragon called him back. "Pendragon – know this. I have begun the healing of Merlin's physical wounds, but there is nothing I can do about the emotional wounds."

Arthur frowned. He didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?" But the dragon was already flapping its immense bat-like wings and taking off into the sky. "Wait!" Arthur called, desperate for more. When the dragon was out of sight, Arthur frowned and griped, "I wonder if he's always this useless?"

"Yeah," a reedy voice rasped from the ground and Arthur spun around, cryptic dragon instantly forgotten. "A-always."

"Merlin!" Gwaine crowed, a genuine Gwaine-smile lighting up his entire face. "About time you woke up, mate."

Merlin blinked heavily and winced, putting a hand to his head. When he took his hand down, it was coated in sticky blood although Arthur was relieved to see that the gash had been closed. "Ugh," he moaned pitifully. "Kind of wish I hadn't just yet."

"Merlin." Merlin turned his head to Arthur slowly, flinching in pain as he did so.

"A-arthur," the warlock stuttered through his injuries, face ashen. "I'm so sorry – I d-didn't mean for you to find out this w-way. I promise, I've only ever used it f-for good."

Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. While he knew that Merlin was  _not_  evil and was determined to keep him safe in Camelot, he still wasn't quite ready to face Merlin in all his power yet. Right now, as he stared down at his friend, he saw what he had always seen before when looking at Merlin – a goofy, vulnerable, idiotic manservant who couldn't take care of himself if his life depended on it. But he had seen another side to Merlin, a side that had absolutely blown his mind. That someone so apparently meek could hold such awesome power was terrifying and quite frankly, hard to believe.

He had just found out that Merlin was not only a sorcerer, but an immensely powerful one. Not only that, but he was a dragon lord. How many times had Merlin lied to Arthur? How many times had Merlin saved him – or saved Camelot – and not received any thanks for it? He hadn't exactly come to terms with the other side of Merlin, despite having seen it with his own eyes. His mind so desperately wanted to believe that he had been seeing things, or what had happened over the past few days were only a dream. This was so surreal and it was going to take a lot of getting used to.

"I know, Merlin," the prince said wearily. "But we are going to have a  _long_  talk later… after we get you back to Camelot and feeling better, though. Can't have you fainting like a girl in the middle of your story, now, can I?"

He had expected Merlin to smile or maybe even give a small laugh but the pained expression on the young man's face didn't waver. Arthur knew he was in pain – he had been held captive for days, more than likely beaten, and thrown against a tree – but there was something else in his eyes, something Arthur couldn't quite place or understand, but it scared him. It was a deeply agonized look, as if Merlin was hurting not only on the outside, but the inside as well.

Suddenly the dragon's final words came back to Arthur in a rush.  _I have begun the healing of Merlin's physical wounds, but there is nothing I can do about the emotional wounds._

Merlin's eyes went wide and he struggled in vain to sit up, causing his face to wrinkle in pain and his body to tremble from the effort. The others moved forward but Arthur beat them to Merlin's side, falling to his knees and gently pushing the servant to the ground. Merlin's eyes were glazed over and he looked like he was about to pass out, but he was determined to get up for some reason. He struggled wildly against Arthur, straining his drastically weakened body.

Lancelot and Gwaine also knelt down beside Merlin while the other man stood off to the side, glancing around the clearing as if scanning for trouble. "Merlin," Lancelot said in a soothing voice. "You've got to calm down. Rest. Your body is weak; you've lost too much blood and–"

"Matthew," Merlin croaked out, voice strained. "Where's Matthew? What—" he groaned, trying to sit up but being guided down almost instantly by three strong pairs of hands. "What happened to Matthew? I – I tried t-to save him…" His voice trailed off and his eyes became a bit misty.

Arthur bit his lip, sure that the man was dead. He felt a bit guilty about leaving him after the army had been driven away but Merlin had been his top priority. He was grateful to the druid for standing up for Merlin and trying to help him, but he had been stabbed in the stomach. There was no way he could have survived and meanwhile, Merlin had been clinging onto life by a mere thread. He turned his head to look at the spot where Matthew's body had been…

And gasped. There was nothing there. No one. Matthew's body was gone.

The prince exchanged incredulous glances with the other men before shrugging subtly. It was strange, but they had more important things to worry about right now. He looked back at Merlin and smiled as best he could despite the roiling emotions inside of him. "We're not sure where he's at," Arthur admitted, not wanting to lie to Merlin.  _He didn't ever hesitate to lie to you!_  a nasty little voice at the back of his mind sneered but he ignored it. Now wasn't the time to be worrying about such things. "He's… gone."

"D-did… K-kilgha-rra… k-kill him?" Merlin stumbled and tripped over his words, his eyelids drooping in complete exhaustion.

Arthur wasn't sure who Kilgharra was, but he thought that it might be the name of the dragon. It certainly _sounded_  like a mystical enough name to belong to a great fire-breathing dragon. "No, he was glowing with your shield, too," Arthur assured Merlin, reminded once more about how far Merlin had gone to save those that he was loyal to.

"G-good," Merlin managed, before going limp once more.

Arthur swallowed heavily as he watched the injured and weary Merlin lose the battle with consciousness now that he had said what he had intended to. Merlin's eyes, pain-dulled and almost… empty rolled back into his head and his eyelids fluttered shut. Lancelot, Gwaine, and the other man looked at the pale boy grimly before Arthur spoke up.

"Lancelot, Gwaine, you come with me; let's get him cleaned up and then I suppose we – or I –" he glumly amended, remembering that his father had banished both Lancelot and Gwaine from Camelot, "– should get him back to Camelot, the sooner the better." He glanced at the stranger. "Thank you, uh…"

"Percival," the bear of a man supplied in a deep voice.

Arthur smiled warmly. "Thank you very much for your help, Percival."

Percival shrugged awkwardly. "I heard many great things about you and Merlin from Lancelot," he said softly. "I'm glad everything turned out for the best."

"Me too," Arthur agreed, though his mind was far from their conversation. He couldn't shake the dragon's warning or the deep sadness and pain he had seen so clearly in Merlin's eyes. He had a feeling that even though they had rescued Merlin – or rather,  _he_  had rescued  _them_  – that this was far from over.


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot managed to navigate their way through the forest to Lancelot and Percival's supplies. Thankfully no one had found them in the brush a few miles away from the renegade's camp and everything was still there. Gwaine and Arthur's clothes and bags were on the opposite side of the camp and they would eventually pass it on their way out of Esticia. None of them wanted to wait to take care of Merlin until then, though, so Lancelot and Percival instantly offered all their supplies to try and clean and treat Merlin the best that they could. It was going to be a long journey back to Camelot, especially with an injured Merlin in tow, and they wanted to get him into the best of shape before they started out. Percival stood watch just in case Morgause, Cenred, or any of those sleazy ex-druids came back – although they all agreed that it was _very_ unlikely.

Lancelot pulled a spare blanket out of his bag and spread it on the ground, folding it over on itself to make it a bit softer. Gwaine was rooting through Percival's small travel bag, snatching everything that they might need to help Merlin and throwing anything else – a few coins, a pair of undergarments, and a sheathed hunting knife – over his shoulder. Percival frowned at what was essentially his bag being looted but he didn't comment because of the importance of the situation, not even when Gwaine's eyes lit up at finding a small flask of ale (which, unlike the other things in the "can't use to cure Merlin" category, he took a swig out of and then pocketed). Percival decided that the long-haired man  _would_  by him a drink when all this was over, though – it was only fair.

Arthur knelt on the ground, Merlin in his arms, and gingerly set the servant down on the folded blanket. He sat back on his haunches, frowning as he tried to decide where to start. He figure the head wound was the most crucial (well, the blood loss was the most dangerous since the dragon had closed the gash but there was not much Arthur could do about that now) and took the strip of one of Lancelot's spare tunics from the man and used it to gently begin wiping the blood from Merlin's face as best he could. He realized distantly that they were still dressed as enemy knights but he didn't care. Right now, Merlin was what mattered.

A small voice in his head asked him when he had become so sentimental, especially over a mere  _servant_ , a _sorcerer_. He shook it away, angry that a part of him was still trying to reject the notion of Merlin being his friend  _and_  servant _and_  warlock after all he had done for them. When Arthur had Merlin's face relatively cleared of the sticky crimson blood, he was relieved to see that while the gash from Merlin's collision with the tree was still there, it was no longer bleeding and beginning to heal already. He guessed that the dragon had probably used his magic to speed up the healing process – Arthur hoped so because he didn't know how much longer he could stand to see Merlin like this – so weak, vulnerable, and hurt.

A wave of fierce, protective anger coursed unexpectedly through Arthur's being and he cursed, closing his eyes and tossing the blood-sodden cloth to the ground. Three heads turned to look at him and he muttered, "I'm going to kill those men that took him."

"You'll have to get in line," Gwaine informed the prince hotly, normally friendly brown eyes furious.

Lancelot closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "I understand," he said softly. "Really, I do – I don't understand how _anyone_  could do this to Merlin. He's so gentle… and he has a good heart." Arthur clenched his fists as he listened to Lancelot, not wanting to hear any more about how Merlin didn't deserve this – as if he didn't already know! Each word was like a knife to his gut as he was reminded just how much Merlin had sacrificed for him, what a good friend Merlin was. A friend that was currently lying in front of Arthur, badly hurt and all too loyal.

 _Dammit, Merlin, why do you think you're expendable? You could've used magic to escape when they first grabbed you, but you were protecting_  me _. You could've escaped in the arena but you were protecting_ me  _(and Gwaine). You could've run or joined the fight when you escaped the cage but the first person you went to was_ Matthew _. Why are you so loyal? Why do you care so much? Why can't you think about your own safety for once?_

_Why, why, why?_

Lancelot was talking again. "—but we won't do Merlin any good by standing here and cursing the animals that did this," he concluded wisely.

Arthur took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and the burning anger toward Morgause, Cenred, and the renegades was not doing him any favors, only serving to tire him more. "You're right, Lancelot," Arthur half-smiled, but it felt fake and probably looked it, too.

He turned his attention back to Merlin. With the help of Gwaine, he managed to pull Merlin's shirt off, gasping and wincing at the sight that greeted him. His anger flared again and he fought to keep it down. Merlin's torso was covered in bruises of all sizes and colors. His sides, abdomen, and chest barely showed any clear skin. The skin had broken in a few places and Arthur could only think of two things that would cause this kind of mark – fists or boots. Either way, it meant that Merlin had been physically abused during his captivity and the thought sickened Arthur.

Besides that, he was skin and bones. Merlin's ribs were jutting out of his chest and his stomach was a hollow valley beneath his tight skin. Arthur's eyes flickered to Merlin's gaunt face again and noticed just how sunken in the boy's cheeks were.

Gwaine cursed as he took in his friend's appearance. "I swear I'll kill them."

This time even Lancelot nodded in agreement.

"Pigs," Percival spat about Merlin's captors as he, too, observed the damage. Even though he didn't know the boy, he found it disgusting that someone could treat another person – especially someone as good and loyal as Lancelot had described – this way.

"I wonder if they even fed him," Arthur muttered softly, blinking his eyes rapidly. Merlin had been missing for nearly a week – he was half-starved!

"Here." Arthur heard Lancelot's gentle voice and he smiled gratefully as the other man handed him a small slice of bread. "We didn't know how long we'd be gone; we packed some food for the journey." He almost chuckled. "Lucky the tavern's food was so bland, though – apparently the animals aren't all that interested in it, either, but it'll be good for Merlin."

Arthur nodded. "Merlin?" he said softly, gently shaking his servant's shoulder, knowing he had to wake him to eat. "Merlin?" For a few minutes, nothing happened and Arthur started to worry.

Suddenly there came a small, weak groan and Merlin's eyes fluttered open wearily. "Ar…ur?" he mumbled, trying to sit up. This time he wasn't pushed back down but Gwaine hurried behind him to help him sit up.

Arthur grinned; seeing Merlin awake and alive had done wonders to bolster his spirits. "You're going to be okay, Merlin," Arthur said, placing a gentle hand on the warlock's bare shoulder, careful not to touch any damaged skin.

Merlin didn't respond but blinked, glancing down at his colorful chest. He grimaced. "Where's m-my shirt?" He formed the words slowly and seemed to have to concentrate on each syllable. Arthur gritted his teeth. Merlin was so exhausted, just speaking was an effort. "'S cold."

Arthur and Lancelot exchanged worried looks. It wasn't all that chilly and they hoped Merlin wasn't getting a fever. Surely not; the dragon had said he had begun the healing process. But if Merlin had the chills on a warm summer day…

"We were checking your bruises," Arthur said, trying to make eye contact with Merlin but the servant was resolutely avoiding his gaze for some reason. Arthur's heart sank. Merlin wasn't acting like himself at all. He reminded himself that Merlin had been through a great ordeal and that he was still weak. "We wanted to make sure your ribs aren't broken."

"They're n-not," Merlin almost whispered. "M-Matthew ch-checked." His brow puckered. "C-cold," he muttered, his eyes drooping.

Gwaine continued to hold Merlin up and put a hand on top of Merlin's short hair encouragingly. "Hey, Merlin, stay with me," the brown-haired man ordered. "We're going to have a helluva lot of magical adventures together, but you've gotta get better first, okay?"

Merlin forced his eyes open again. "L-lemme guess," he almost smiled. "Your p-plan involves a unicorn, do-doesn't it?"

Gwaine's face split into a grin. "Merlin, my friend," he chuckled, "you know me too well."

"Use this," Percival said, handing the blanket Merlin had been lying on to Lancelot, who passed it to Arthur. The prince draped the blanket around Merlin's shoulders and the boy snuggled into it.

"Thanks."

"Merlin?" Arthur said quietly. Merlin hummed and Arthur took it that he was listening. "I need you to try and eat something, okay?"

Merlin eyed the offered bread for a few seconds before shaking his head. "Can't," he murmured, leaning back against Gwaine. "S-sick."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You  _always_  have to make things difficult, don't you,  _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin didn't laugh or joke back, he simply shook his head no, refusing the offered food.

" _Mer_ lin – you are skin and bones. You  _need_  to eat," Arthur said in his most prince-like voice. "As your prince and master, I  _command_  you to eat."

"Prat," Merlin muttered and Arthur grinned even as Merlin weakly lifted his arms and took the bread. He managed to get most of it down before doubling over and becoming violently sick. Arthur froze, panicked, as Lancelot and Percival ran to Merlin's side. Gwaine rubbed small circles on Merlin's back, not fazed at all by the sick next to him.

Merlin sat back up, wiped his mouth, and coughed feebly. Arthur saw that he was shaking all over and that his eyes had slipped closed again. "Merlin? Merlin, don't do this – wake up!"

Arthur didn't understand! Why was Merlin sick? The dragon had started to heal his wounds but Merlin was shivering and couldn't keep food down. Whatever was wrong must be a result of his injuries. Merlin needed a physician, that was for sure, because even with the dragon's help, Merlin wouldn't be likely to survive without professional help for long in his condition. Arthur wished he knew more about medicine and injuries and how to fix them because his mind was drawing a blank. He gently took the exhausted Merlin from Gwaine, wincing at how cold the boy was. They needed to get Merlin to Gaius because none of them knew what to do for the man.

"We've got to get him to Camelot," Arthur said softly. "It's going to be a rough trip with him sick but we have no other option – I don't know what's wrong with him."

"But I do." Four heads snapped around to face the newcomer and four mouths dropped open.

There stood the Matthew the healer, eyes friendly and open, standing with them in the forest, looking like he had not just been run through with a sword.


	15. Chapter 15

Arthur's sword was instantly out, with Gwaine, Lancelot, and Percival following suit. Casting one last worried glance at the unconscious Merlin, the prince rose to his feet, sword drawn, his eyes narrowed at the newcomer. It was Matthew… but that wasn't possible. Matthew had been dead or dying, a sword shoved through his abdomen. Arthur had seen it himself; he had watched as the ex-druid healer had turned against his men, trying to help Merlin, and had gotten a sword in his gut from one of Cenred's men for his trouble. Matthew had been lying on the ground, bleeding out, the last time Arthur had seen him. It would have been suspicious even if he bore a scar along with his bloodstained tunic, but there was absolutely no sign of pain or discomfort on his face, no mark on the skin beneath the slashed clothing. This just  _couldn't_  be Matthew.

"Who are you?" Arthur hissed threateningly, not trusting this supposed ally that had just revealed himself.

"Matthew" frowned. "My name is Matthew," he said. "Remember, I am – or was – the healer for the renegade camp of druids. I—"

"No," Lancelot said softly, sword point finding and brushing the man's chest. The man who claimed to be Matthew raised both hands in the air, a sign of surrender, bud didn't back away, even when Gwaine and Arthur moved in on him as well, Percival staying behind to keep an eye on Merlin – not that he would be able to go anywhere in his state, although with Merlin, Arthur had learned to expect the unexpected. "I saw you.  _We_  saw you. You were stabbed. You were dead."

Matthew smiled. "No, my friends, I was not dead. If I had been dead, there would have been nothing anyone could have done for me unless they bartered their lives with a Priestess on the Isle of the Blessed, but that's a whole other story that we  _really_  don't have time to get into right now, especially if we are going to be any help for Emry – I mean, Merlin. The point still remains, though, if I truly had been dead, there wouldn't have been anything you could have done for me – except for go through my pockets and look for loose change." The healer smiled what was more than likely supposed to be a disarming grin but no one smiled. Gwaine, however, did snort in mild amusement while still not taking his eyes – or his sword – off of Matthew.

"Get to the point," Arthur growled, sending an anxious look over his shoulder at Merlin, who was still out cold and hadn't moved since passing out.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said softly, eyes finding Merlin and growing weary. "Now is not the time to joke. But as I was saying, I wasn't dead, although I was pretty damn close. I don't remember much, only pain – and lots of it. I felt like I was burning from the inside out, and all the pain was radiating from my stomach. I felt weak, my blood was pouring from me faster than I could even hope to stem the flow. I just  _knew_  I was going to die." His gaze was far off, distant. "I  _should_  have died." He shook his head as if to clear it of some unpleasant thought and went on. "I could feel myself slipping away but I could vaguely hear the sounds of battle and yelling voices in my ears. I-I heard Emrys – Merlin – say something, and then I felt a rush of power surround me.

"It was so warm to my dying body, wrapping me in a sense of comfort that I had never experienced before. It was a different kind of magic than I had ever had contact with, new and strange, but pleasant. At first, I thought it was just my imagination; I thought I was finally drifting off into the afterlife. But then everything began to get clearer and that's when I realized that I was glowing! My stomach stopped hurting, the wound stopped bleeding, and through all the chaos, I managed to pull the sword out and even that didn't hurt. I felt replenished. I got to my feet but no one noticed because everyone was staring at… at a dragon. I'll admit it; I got scared. I've heard many things about dragons, terrifying things – since the Great Purge, hushed tales of man-eating dragons were often told to druid children that spoke of magic in public, to scare them away from getting caught by Uther's men – and I panicked.

"I know… I know it was cowardly, and I know I should have stayed… but I ran. Then I heard you a b it later, tromping through the forest with Merlin, and I realized just how dire the situation was. I shouldn't have run, even if there was a dragon." His voice was hard and determined and his gaze locked on Merlin. "I turned against the only life I know for Emrys, for you, and I intend to help in any way that I can – if you'll let me."

There was silence for a few minutes as everyone took this in. Then Gwaine spoke up, dubious but intrigued. "You said you were glowing?"

Brow furrowed, Matthew nodded. "Like a firefly."

"Hm… we were glowing too," Gwaine mused. "It was Merlin – somehow he protected us – all of us – from the dragon's fire and his spells…"

"Are you suggesting that he healed you, a man who was on the brink of death, as well?" Arthur demanded while Lancelot looked on skeptically.

"It's incredible, I know," Matthew admitted, "and hard to believe. But… it's the only explanation to why I'm still alive. Like I said, if it hadn't been for that spell, the light… I would've been dead."

Gwaine's eyes went wide and snapped to his arm, where he had had a deep wound from the fight with Cenred's men. "Holy…" he began, whistling. While there was blood on the sleeve, there was no gash, no pain… he felt fine. He had apparently been so preoccupied with helping Merlin that he hadn't noticed that he was healed until after the fact.

Everyone else checked themselves for injuries and found none.

"Bloody hell," Gwaine swore, shaking his head. "Merlin's one powerful little bugger, isn't he?"

"I'm still not buying it," Arthur said, despite the obvious lack-of-injury in their small party. "If Merlin was able to heal our wounds and bring 'Matthew' here from the brink of death, when why is he lying here, half dead, on the ground?"

"I don't think he had full control over his magic at this point," Matthew answered after a few tense seconds. "One thing you have to understand – from everything I've seen of him, Merlin's magic is instinctual. I think that what he did earlier was something that just… happened. He was desperate to save us – well, you, mainly, I'm sure – and he did what he had to. I'm not sure how it's possible, or even if it  _is_  possible. But I guess it is. Merlin is  _the_ Emrys of legend. He probably has powers that even he is not aware of yet. But make no mistake – I've heard the prophecies and now, after meeting this figure of legend, I fully believe in them once again. Emrys will do great things and is only loyal to you."

"I know," Arthur said softly, turning around, Matthew obviously Matthew and not a threat. Arthur searched his friend's lax face for a moment before repeating, pride in his voice, "I know."

"So you said you can help Merlin?" Lancelot jumped in.

"I have a good idea of what is wrong with him, yes," Matthew agreed. He nodded his head in the warlock's direction. "Do you mind if I take a look at him?"

Arthur, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Percival exchanged glances before Arthur nodded slowly. "We are trusting you, Matthew. Do  _not_  make us regret this decision."

Matthew dipped his head solemnly, eyes serious. "I assure you, Sire. I want nothing more than to see Merlin safe and healthy again."

Arthur nodded a bit curtly. "Then see that it's done."

* * *

Morgana sat in her room in front of her mirror, gazing distractedly at her reflection – or rather, at the surface of the mirror where she  _hoped_  a message from her sister might appear soon. Morgause had gone with Cenred to find and procure this "Emrys" and Morgana was anxious to know what had happened. The way Morgause had spoken of Emrys… it was almost reverent. Her sister had spoken of prophecies, of great powers that would help bring the end of Camelot. But what if Emrys didn't want to help them? What if he refused? Morgause seemed to think that she could handle the warlock (after all, some measly ex-druids had managed to capture him) but if he was really as powerful as Morgause claimed, how could that be? If this Emrys was meant to be the most powerful warlock to ever exist, why did everyone think that they could force him to do their will? It just didn't make sense to Morgana.

The seer forced such thoughts out of her mind, knowing that she should not entertain doubts and just trust her beloved sister. Morgause had proven time and time again that she was someone that Morgana could trust – the only  _real_  family the king's ward had. Morgause knew what she was doing. If she said she could handle this Emrys, then she could handle him.

Suddenly the enchanted glass on Morgana's large vanity mirror (courtesy of a spell Morgause had taught Morgana how to do so they could communicate easier) fogged up and a scripted message appeared on the glass.

"Sister – there is  _much_ to discuss. I fear all is not all that it once seemed. Meet me in the Darkling Woods as soon as you can get away from the castle."

Stomach tickling in anxiety, Morgana stood, grabbed her green cloak that lay on her bed, waiting for this very moment, and hurried toward the door. She could sneak out of the castle easily enough, now that Merlin had been nowhere nearby for the past week (Gaius said that he was visiting his mother in Ealdor), because he was the only one that ever seemed to be able to notice when she was on the move.

It wasn't long before she was stalking confidently through the woods to the pre-arranged meeting spot. Morgause's message had sounded urgent. Something must be wrong. Morgana quickened her pace and moved onward to find her sister.

* * *

"Just as I thought," Matthew mused, one hand on Merlin's forehead, the other absently patting the unconscious boy's shoulder. "He's cold –  _much_  colder than he should be – and you said that he woke up, barely able to keep his eyes open and his movements sluggish?" Arthur nodded, worry and  _anger_  coursing through him at the sight of Merlin so frail, bruised, and weak, lying there looking almost lifeless. "He's lethargic and cold because of blood loss – he lost a  _lot_  of blood from that head wound. Not sure why the dragon didn't replenish it, but it seems like he did  _just_  enough to keep Merlin alive… probably so as not to mess with the fabric of time and fate, although with Merlin bringing me back, I'd say that's probably screwed anyway – not that I'm complaining," the healer added quickly. Arthur almost smiled at the man's subtle sense of humor.

"As for the sickness – and I hate to tell you this, and I can't tell you how sorry I am that I didn't do anything sooner – but he's malnourished. Barely had a thing to eat all week." Arthur's anger flared up and he wanted to hit something. Wasn't it bad enough that they hurt Merlin, hit him, tied him, humiliated him? They  _starved_  him, too? Merlin didn't deserve this, he didn't…

Arthur blinked his eyes, feeling a bit of moisture trying to gather in them (the pollen from the trees must have been getting to his eyes, causing them to water, he decided). One hand found the top of Merlin's head and he ran his fingers through black hair, almost as if in doing so he could comfort Merlin, wipe away the terrible things that had happened to him. Why had this happened to Merlin of all people? Merlin was… well, Merlin. And Emrys, too, Arthur supposed, although even with the extra name and magic that Arthur was still having to get used to, Merlin didn't seem any different. He was still a loyal, self-sacrificing idiot that was Arthur's closest friend.

"Arthur." Lancelot's voice was tight and clipped and Arthur knew that he was doing his best not to yell in anger. "He'll be alright."

"I'll kill them," Gwaine announced again.

Percival gave a grunt of approval.

Matthew let his eyes flicker between all of them before continuing, "With him being malnourished, his stomach isn't ready to handle solid food. He can't keep it down. He's going to have to take it slow, with broth and soups, before he can eat bread again. Otherwise, it'll all just come back up again, and that's the last thing he needs."

Arthur's fingers, which were still petting Merlin's hair comfortingly, paused as he considered this. "So what now?" he said, determined.

"Now, I'll do everything I can to make him comfortable, although I do not have the supplies to  _really_  help like I'd like, and then we need to get him back to Camelot as soon as possible. He needs the care of a skilled physician with herbs and ointments and treatments."

"We have the best in the kingdom," Arthur announced rather proudly. "Merlin's actually his ward."

"Good," said Matthew, nodding in approval.

"Well, are we going to get going or what?" Gwaine asked, eyes glimmering in anticipation.

"Yes, let's get Merlin as taken care of as we possibly can and then get him back to Camelot," Lancelot agreed. "He needs Gaius's care."

Arthur stared. "Gwaine, Lancelot… you can't exactly come back with me. You're banished, remember?"

"Banished, shmanished," Gwaine waved Arthur's warning off cheerfully. "Merlin needs me and some decree from your father isn't going to stop me from being there for him."

"Me either," Lancelot agreed, "and if you remember, I more or less banished  _myself_."

"My father will  _not_  be happy if he sees either of you," Arthur tried one more time, in actuality touched at their determination to be there for Merlin, for their friend.

"Well, it's a good thing that I don't give a damn whether your father's happy, then, isn't it?" Gwaine grinned cheekily, patting Arthur on the back. "From what I've seen of him, he's never happy."

"Gwaine…"

"I know, I know – he's still your father. But I stand by what I said before – you can't have everything, eh?"

Arthur shook his head at the man's antics, fighting the chuckles that were bubbling inside of him, and then got to his feet, giving Merlin's shoulder a quick squeeze of encouragement. "Alright, we'll all go to Camelot," he agreed, "but you two had better stay low profile. I just got Merlin back and am going to break the law for him; I really don't want to have to break the law to save either one of you from the block."

Lancelot and Gwaine nodded.

"Let's go."

* * *

"Sister, what happened?" Morgana rushed to meet Morgause, worried. Morgause didn't look harmed, which was good, although her expression was cold, hard, and angry. Morgana knew instantly that buying of Emrys had not gone as planned. "Are you alright?"

"Morgana. I am fine, although that much cannot be said for most of Cenred's army."

"What happened? Was he too powerful?"

"Morgana, he is… he is a dragon lord. He called on the dragon and even without the beast, his powers were stronger than I have ever seen… but that is not all, Morgana. There is something you must know, something you must be prepared to understand and to act upon in the near future. We still have a chance at eliminating Emrys – because it is obvious he will  _not_  be swayed to our side, his loyalty to the Pendragon's is so great – but only  _you_ will be able to do so now."

Morgana's elegant eyebrows drew together. "I… don't understand, Morgause. How can  _I_  destroy such a great power when you could not?"

"Because," Morgause said, a hint of a smile returning to her face, "you will be seeing him shortly, I assume, when Arthur and his men return from their rescue mission."

Morgana frowned. "Arthur went hunting. At least, that's what he told Uther."

"He was hunting – but for the same thing we were, Morgana. Arthur, too, was after Emrys, but for a completely different reason. And when he returns, while Emrys is still weak, you must act."

"But I don't understand," Morgana said again, for once just wishing her sister would get to the point. There was something going on here, something that was important that she was missing and apparently a big part of, and Morgana wanted to know what it was. "Why would Arthur go after Emrys? And why will I be able to defeat him?"

"You already know him, Sister," Morgause smirked, brown eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Morgana's own eyes widened. How could this be?

"But I—"

"Emrys," Morgause told her sister, voice low and dark, "has another name. He has fooled us all, kept quiet in the shadows, protected Arthur, pretending to be no one special, all the while plotting against us. Morgana, Emrys… he is Merlin."


	16. Chapter 16

Morgana stared at her sister, lips parted slightly in shock, green eyes wide. Her face was even paler than usual before a slight flush spread across her cheeks, visible to Morgause even in the shade of the forest. "Sister?" Morgause asked, taking a step forward and putting a gentle hand on Morgana's shoulder. When Morgana didn't answer but continue to stare into space, Morgause tightened her grip slightly and allowed her tone to become a bit more urgent. " _Morgana?_ "

Morgana's eyes twitched to meet Morgause's. Voice trembling, she mumbled, "No, it can't be… it doesn't make sense. He – he wouldn't have… he would have…" Her eyes sought Morgause's worried gaze, looking desperately for any sign that this was a lie. Her heart was pounding, her eyes burning, and anger screaming inside of her.

"I was shocked as well, Morgana," Morgause admitted, eyes narrowed as she remembered seeing how powerful Merlin really was. "But I assure you – Merlin has magic, and of a power that I have never witnessed. He  _is_ Emrys. He was dying from a head wound, Morgana, bleeding out, and yet he stood up, eyes burning gold, and called upon the Great Dragon – the same dragon that your brother supposedly killed. Not only that, but he conjured a shield, the likes of which I have never seen, to encompass his friends. They were completely unharmed by the dragon's fire. And that is not even touching on what he did before that."

Morgana's eyes narrowed, her lips tight and voice angry as she tried to contain her rage. Merlin had magic? How _dare_ he act like he couldn't help her with controlling her gift? How  _dare_  he protect those that needed to be destroyed, removed from power, those that hated his – their – kind? How  _dare_  he poison her to save those very same tyrants, and knowing that he and the one he was trying to murder were the same? How  ** _dare_** he? "What did he do?"

"He made the skies turn black, called down lightning, made the earth tremble and consume those that tried to harm him. He conjured a great wave of water to eliminate the ball of fire I threw at him. He caused winds to spring up from nowhere. And yet when Arthur was threatened, he gave himself up… in an instant." She scowled, the frown marring her beautiful face. "So much power… wasted on those who would destroy him for possessing it."

"I… how could he?" Morgana snapped, on the verge of tears. She and Merlin had once been  _friends_. He had _known_  about her magic,  _known_  how she was struggling, terrified of who and what she was, needing guidance. He could have given her that, helped her, taught her, shown her that her magic was nothing to fear, that she was not alone. Instead, he had refused to ac knowledge that she had magic. True, he had led her to the druids but that had wound up in disaster.

He hadn't told her the truth or tried to train her in magic – if he was indeed as powerful as Morgause claimed, he could have helped her come  _so_  far with her gift. They could have grown closer, linked by their common heritage, their secrets, and they would have protected each other, just like they had protected the druid boy last year. Unbidden, a strange lurch of loneliness jerked her heart at the memory of that time. Now she knew why he had wanted to help the druid boy – because he, too, had magic. But then… why hadn't he helped  _her_ , too?

Anger and an overwhelming sense of betrayal quickly consumed her brief bout of nostalgia and a near manic wave of anger crashed through her like a storm. Merlin was a traitor, a liar, and essentially, a murderer. Almighty Emrys or not, he deserved to die. She would not allow him to join her cause now, even if he  _begged_  her. She wanted him to  _suffer_  for what he had done – or rather, not done, when it came down to it. He hadn't been there for her when she needed him most. He had not sided with her in the fight against Uther. Instead, he had protected the tyrant and his son. An urge – more like a need – to see justice, to have revenge, boiled in her blood and she said darkly, "What do you want me to do?"

* * *

They had been travelling for just under ten minutes, Merlin being carried by two men at a time in alteration. He had yet to wake up, but Matthew said that perhaps it was for the best. Right now, he was held between Arthur and Percival and Arthur still couldn't believe how  _light_  Merlin was. Yes, he was normally skinny but no one should be this weightless. He remembered the skin stretched thin against ribs, stomach hollowed in, and bit back bile. He wasn't going to break down. Not now.

Matthew was walking alongside whoever held Merlin, keeping an eye on his condition, which, thankfully, hadn't gotten any worse. Until now. Now, Arthur happened to glance down, and his stomach twisted as he noticed a small splotch of red on the front of Merlin's shirt. Blood. But there hadn't been any there before, had there, since Lancelot had lent him some of his spare clothes? No. So that meant— "He's bleeding," Arthur announced gruffly, causing the party to halt instantly.

Matthew swung his head around to assess the situation. He had been lost in thought, staring ahead at the path and reflecting on what a dramatic turn his life had taken over the past few days. All because of a loyal and kind young man. Emrys. Merlin. But they were one and the same, weren't they? No, Matthew told himself a bit sternly, they weren't – not really. Emrys was the all-powerful warlock with unimaginable power that he had watched in action earlier. The one who could crack open the earth and split the skies. Merlin, on the other hand, was the insanely loyal boy who would give anything, do anything, to save his friends. Yes, Emrys and Merlin were technically one and the same, but there was a distinct line drawn between prophesied warlock and just Merlin. There was also a balance between the two, and for that Matthew was glad.

Now, though, he was jerked out of his thoughts as Arthur declared that Merlin was bleeding. Mind whirling with what could  _possibly_ be wrong now, the healer instantly barked, "Stop," even though everyone had already halted at Arthur's words. "Lay him down, please," Matthew said to Arthur, not bothering with titles or formalities – first of all, Arthur was not  _his_  prince even if he was the Once and Future King, and second of all, this was to urgent of a situation. Arthur and Percival did so without hesitation, and the sight of the prince of Camelot and a man who barely knew Merlin so focused on helping him warmed his heart.

Kneeling beside Merlin, Matthew saw that Arthur hadn't been mistaken – a small splotch of blood marred the fabric of the borrowed, too-big tunic. With the steady, gentle hands of the healer he had trained to be, Matthew lifted the fabric of the shirt and sucked in his breath, terror spiking through him at what he saw. "Oh, no…" he breathed.

Arthur was instantly in his face, expression worried. "What is it?" Matthew hesitated. "Tell me, dammit!" Arthur snarled. "What does it mean?" he gestured to the small gash opening up on Merlin's torso.

"I should have seen this coming," Matthew mused mournfully, not believing that they might very well still lose Merlin – lose  _Emrys_  – after everything that they had gone through to save him, after everything the warlock himself had gone through. This just wasn't fair, although he knew the rules of magic, the lore of the balance between life and death. He should have known…

"What is it?" Gwaine hissed, crouched on Merlin's other side. "Because he sure didn't have that before."

Lancelot sat quietly by Merlin's head, a hand on his forehead as if searching for traces of fever. His eyes were grim. Percival stood to the side, eyes flitting between the injured Merlin and uninjured Matthew and if the healer had been paying attention to the large man, perhaps he would have seen the wheels turning in his head as he worked out what was going on.

"I-I was dying," Matthew said softly. "Almost dead. And Merlin saved me."

"Yes, we know this, already, but what does this have to do with a mysteriously appearing slash in his chest?" Arthur demanded heatedly.

All eyes were on Matthew, waiting for an answer, when a weak voice spoke from the ground. "I d-didn't think th-this would happen," Merlin breathed, eyes pained. "I… I thought the Isle… the C-cup was all that took a l-life in re-return. I—but I'm glad you're okay, M-Mathew. Thank y-you for helping m-me."

"Merlin, what are you talking about?" Arthur demanded, a hand on the boy's shoulder. "What did you mean, 'took a life in return'?"

"The balance of l-life must be r-restored," Merlin breathed, his breath hitched.

"I'll explain on the way back to Camelot," Matthew decided, already going through a bag of supplies for something to stop the bleeding. "We've got to get him back – and fast. There's still a chance he'll make it, since I may have miraculously recovered on my own, but he's going to need medical treatment – the wound is just going to keep growing, getting worse, and he  _cannot_  afford to lose any more blood."

"Then let's do it," Lancelot said grimly.

"You shouldn't have healed me, Merlin," Matthew chastised gently as he began to wrap the new wound, in the exact spot it had been on Matthew's own chest. "You're much more important than me. And even with your great power, the balance must be repaid."

"I don't really… even r-rem'ber… d-doing that," Merlin admitted, eyes slipping shut. "I j-just wanted y-you  _all_  t-t-to be s-safe…" His face scrunched up in pain, he murmured, "C-cold…" before sliding back into unconsciousness.

Arthur sighed heavily and shook his head, patting Merlin's hair comfortingly. "Idiot," he said affectionately. "When you get better, I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

"Mine either!" Gwaine chimed in. "I might even see about getting a pair of those nice little handcuffs your knights like to clamp on the first person to speak their opinion and using  _them_  to keep Merlin nearby."

Lancelot chuckled grimly. "You've been arrested, too?"

"Yep," Gwaine said in falsely cheery voice, his worry lacing the tone even though he was trying his best to be positive. "Seems to be a pattern in Camelot, doesn't it?"

Arthur snorted before nodding at Gwaine. "Gwaine, take a turn, help me carry him."

Gwaine nodded solemnly, crouching beside Merlin and gently helping to lift his limp, icy body. "Arthur, why don't you take a break, too?" Lancelot suggested. "I'll take over for you for a little while."

"No," said Arthur sternly, gaze fixed ahead, eyes suspiciously bright. No one argued and together the small band of friends marched on, determined to get their friend back home to safety, to help, before sundown.

Camelot was the one place where Merlin would truly, totally,  _finally_  be safe.

* * *

Meanwhile, in another wood just outside of the city, Morgause and Morgana began to plot.


	17. Chapter 17

By the time they reached Camelot, the wound on Merlin's chest had doubled in length and depth. They had stopped several times along the way so that Matthew could check and re-dress the wound. Thankfully, due to the attentiveness of Matthew and the others, the blood flow was stemmed for the most part. Still, Merlin's complexion became even more sickly – now a grayish color – and beneath the swath of blankets he had been wrapped in, his skin was frigid to the touch. The rescue party that walked up to the gates of Camelot was a grim and weary one, Arthur and Lancelot holding a limp and all but lifeless Merlin between them. Arthur was exhausted, not having taken a break from carrying his friend since their journey homeward began – when asked to let someone relieve him, he flat out refused.

The others weren't sure why the prince was so determined. Perhaps it was guilt – maybe Arthur felt that this was his fault and was trying to amends in the only way he could, by physically carrying his servant to safety. Maybe he felt he owed a debt since Merlin had not only saved them all from Morgause and Cenred's army but had healed them as well. Or maybe – just maybe – he was worried about his friend and was  _not_  going to leave Merlin's side until the bloody idiot got better.

Arthur fought the desperation that seemed determined to drag him down as his gaze flitted between the great white castle rising up behind the lower town and his servant's deathlike face. Forcing the feelings down, Arthur told himself that he'd deal with them – along with the fact that Merlin was a powerful warlock – later, after Merlin was well on the way to recovery. Because Merlin  _was_  going to get better – he didn't have a choice.

Whispers followed Arthur and the others through the streets as they walked solemnly through the lower town, heading for the palace. The mutters that surrounded them were fearful, worried, and awed. Arthur only heard snatches of what the villagers were saying, but what did make it to him grated at his nerves. "It's the prince, he's returned…" — "I thought he went hunting…" — "—is that…?" — "Yes, it is, it's his servant…" — "…Wonder how he died…?"

At this murmured, offhand comment, Arthur's head snapped around to find whoever had said such a thing. The crowd fell silent while Arthur and his companions glared furiously at all the busybodies. Teeth clenched, Arthur ground out, "He's… not… dead." No one dared to contradict the prince's words, despite the state that the servant was in.

Turning away from his obnoxiously nosy subject, Arthur barked, "Lancelot! Gwaine!" Both previously banished men stood at attention and Arthur refused to contemplate what the consequences would be if they got caught by Uther. Despite this,  _Merlin_  was the top priority here. "One of you take Matthew and go to Gaius. Prepare him, tell him to have everything ready for Merlin to get there. And let him know…" he paused, closing his eyes briefly, "…that it doesn't – doesn't look good."

"I'll go," Lancelot said. Gwaine made no effort to move, making it clear that he, like Arthur, was determined to stay with Merlin. Lancelot silently moved, expression grave, so that Gwaine could take his place in supporting Merlin.

"Don't stop," Arthur ordered as Lancelot began to move through the crowd, Matthew on his heels. "Not for anyone – keep your head down, don't let anyone who might recognize you – especially the guards or my father – see you."

Lancelot nodded curtly before disappearing into the crowd. Glaring at those still surrounding the small party, Arthur carefully shifted Merlin's limp body to a more comfortable position and snapped to the crowd of onlookers, "You need to move, now." Without a word the mass of people parted, watching as Prince Arthur helped carry a mere servant through the lower town, into the castle, and toward the physician's chambers.

* * *

On his way to Gaius's chambers, Lancelot ran into Guinevere. He noticed her from a distance and noted that she was just as beautiful as ever with her curly dark hair, smooth skin, and warm eyes. He tried to look away, to not draw her attention, because as much as he wanted to speak to her, to hear her voice again, this wasn't about him and how his heart leaped every time he saw Guinevere. Merlin was the most important right now. Lancelot blinked back tears at the image of Merlin beaten, starved, and bloody. How could this have happened, to  _Merlin_ of all people?

"Lancelot?" He winced mentally. He had almost made it to Gaius's chambers without anyone noticing him. He debated ignoring Gwen's voice and hurrying away to find the physician but decided that it might be best to quickly explain his presence to the confused girl. He stopped suddenly and Matthew, who Lancelot had almost forgotten was following him to Gaius, ran into him.

Gwen hurried to catch up with Lancelot, her eyes wide as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "What… what are you doing here?" she asked, a slight tremble in her voice. "The king—"

"Merlin," Lancelot said. "He needs Gaius."

Gwen gasped. "What happened?"

"I don't have time to explain. Just, please, Guinevere, don't tell anyone of my presence, or of Gwaine's, for that matter. I—"

"Gwaine's here too?"

"Er, yes, but—"

"Excuse me?" Matthew said a bit testily from behind. "You two can catch up later, yeah? Isn't Merlin our first priority?"

Lancelot cringed, guilt welling up inside of him even though he had only stopped for a moment. "You're right, of course. Gwen—"

"I'm coming with you," Guinevere said, gaze stony. "And I'd just like to see you try to stop me."

Lancelot and Matthew exchanged glances, shrugged, and together the three hurried to Gaius's chambers.

* * *

Gaius had been mixing remedies for his rounds, trying not to worry about Merlin – surely Arthur, Lancelot, and Gwaine would succeed and bring his ward, who had become more than a son to him, home safely. He couldn't think about the grim alternative too much, because the idea of Arthur returning without Merlin was unthinkable. Merlin wasn't just  _Emrys_ , he wasn't just a warlock, or Gaius's ward. Merlin was his boy. And Gaius was _terrified_  that he would never see him again. From the moment Arthur had burst into his room with the news that Merlin had been kidnapped, Gaius had missed Merlin more than he ever could have imagined. His worry had been so great at firs that he had been afraid it was enough to stop his frail old heart.

Now he found that he had to keep his hands – and mind – busy so as not to dwell too much on the negative possibilities. He needed to hope for the best. But what if Arthur found out that Merlin did indeed have magic and left him to die? Or what if he brought Merlin back, only to have him executed? Gaius admonished himself for the thoughts. Arthur was above that. Gaius himself had witnessed just how much the prince had changed since Merlin had become a part of his life. Arthur wouldn't throw away Merlin's friendship and loyalty after all they'd been through because of magic, would he? Gaius shook his head slowly. He really didn't know. He'd like to think that Arthur would accept Merlin, but the stakes were so high.

Cursing himself for allowing his mind back on this dark train of thought, Gaius tried to still the trembling in his hands and relax. Before he could calm down, the door to his chambers burst open and none other than Lancelot, trailed by Gwen and another man that Gaius had never seen before, rushed into the room. Gaius's heart skipped a beat as he caught a glimpse of the grim, desperate expression on Lancelot's face. There was no sign of Merlin, or Arthur, for that matter.

"Lancelot," Gaius said, attempting to keep the shakiness out of his voice and failing miserably. "What are you doing here? Where's Merlin?"

"He's alive," Lancelot said, but the defeated expression on his face didn't waver, "but it doesn't look good. Gaius, this is Matthew. He was a healer for the renegades that kidnapped Merlin."

Gwen gasped. "Kidnapped…?"

"Guinevere, can you go fetch me some water?" Gaius interrupted, feeling bad for sending her away like this but not having the time to explain everything to her fully. Gwen nodded and left.

"And?" Gaius prompted, raising one eyebrow while looking coldly at this  _Matthew_.

"And he turned against them, tried to save Merlin. But you see, he ended up getting stabbed by one of Cenred's men and…"

Gaius felt weak. "Cenred? Does that mean Morgause was involved? And if you were stabbed, how…?" Wild thoughts were beginning to chase each other around in Gaius's aching head, each more terrifying than the next.

Matthew sighed wearily. "There is  _much_  to tell and no time to tell it in."

"Gwaine, Arthur, and Percival are on their way with Merlin right now. He's going to need immediate attention."

Not even bothering to ask Lancelot who Percival was, Gaius refused to let his heart sink. No, Merlin wasn't going to die. "What's wrong with him?"

Matthew, who knew more about Merlin's conditions since he was a healer and had been taking care of him on the journey to Camelot, responded, "He's bruised badly, malnourished – no broken bones, though he's got some bruised ribs. And… he's got a growing stab wound on his stomach."

Gaius had to grip the end of the table to keep himself upright at this news. A stab wound in his stomach… those were usually fatal. But how…? And suddenly everything became clear as a guilty look appeared on Matthew's haggard face.  _Matthew_  had been stabbed but somehow, while trying to heal the man, Merlin had managed to take the wound  _from_  him.  _The balance of life must be repaid…_  Gaius heard Nimueh's words in his mind as clear as if she were standing here. He almost wished that she were – he feared that if the wound was too terrible, making a trade might be the only way Merlin would survive. But maybe – just maybe – he'd be able to heal the boy with conventional means.

He pushed himself to his feet and hurried to his supply shelf, beginning to make up a salve for Merlin's injuries. Matthew came over to his side tentatively, while Lancelot turned to greet Gwen as she returned from the well with a bucket of water, her face pale. "Can I help?" Matthew asked, almost as if he was ashamed to be in the same room with Merlin's guardian.

Gaius smiled at the man, though there was no cheer in it, and answered, "Of course."

That's when the doors flew open once more, this time bringing Prince Arthur, Gwaine, a big fellow that must have been Percival, and… Merlin.

Gaius had to close his eyes and take a steadying breath as he caught sight of his ward.  _No…_  Lancelot had indeed been right… it didn't look good for Merlin. Not at all."

* * *

Morgana was in her room, absent-mindedly running a brush through her long, black hair, when there was a hurried knock at her door and Gwen slipped into the room, face flushed, hair hastily pulled up in a frizzy bun, and face sweating. Her eyes were distant like her mind was far away. It was nearly dusk and Morgana had returned from the meeting with her sister about an hour ago, having been informed of  _everything_ , and therefore hadn't exactly been surprised that Gwen was nowhere to be found upon her return.  _No doubt fawning over the traitor,_  Morgana had hissed to herself, thoughts of Merlin making her ears almost hum with anger. He would pay.

"I am so sorry, my lady," Gwen gushed, hurrying forward and curtsying slightly. Even her voice was far away. If she was this upset about Merlin merely being  _injured_ , imagine her reaction when he was dead. Morgana almost smirked but kept her facial expression in check. Now wasn't the time to be letting on that she was less than pleased about Merlin being alive.

Her voice masked with what sounded like genuine concern, Morgana stood, eyes questioning. "It's quite alright, Guinevere. How's Merlin?" She tried not to choke out the sound of his name.

Gwen looked confused. "How do you know…?"

Oh, drat. She had supposedly been in her room all day, or out on a ride, or whatever Uther chose to believe. She wasn't supposed to have known about Merlin, and she wouldn't have, if not for Morgause's report. Giving a sad smile, Morgana covered up her mistake. "You know how rumors spread in Camelot," she said. "Like wildfire. I heard it from some of the guards that Arthur brought Merlin back to Camelot, half-dead."

Gwen cringed. "I- he's… Morgana, I don't think he's going to make it." Her voice broke. "I… I d-don't want t-to give up on him, but… M-Morgana, h-he's…"

Morgana was stunned. Morgause hadn't told her that Merlin was  _that_  bad off. After all, he'd managed to drive off a whole army, not to mention a powerful sorceress like her sister, even with a gash on the head. Surely he had healed himself? If Merlin died like this, it would put a damper on her plan. Sure, her plan ended up with Merlin dying so the conclusions would be the same, but she was so fiercely angry at him that she could think of little else besides  _revenge_.  _She_  wanted to be the one to kill Merlin.

Needing to know more about his condition, Morgana asked, "What's wrong with him? Do you know?"

Gwen took a deep breath. "He was stabbed and he has a terrible head wound that has closed completely, thank heavens, but Gaius says that he lost too much blood before it was fixed. Gaius has sewed up the stab wound as best he can and the blood flow has been stopped, but Merlin has a fever and it's not going down. H-he hasn't woken up yet and G-Gaius doesn't kn-know if he ever… ever will."

Morgana's eyes narrowed but she rearranged her expression as Gwen opened her eyes, tears streaming down her face, and looked pleadingly at Morgana, "Arthur's a wreck. He  _refuses_  to leave Merlin's side, even though the king has called for him several times. Gaius fears that Uther will send some guards to remove him from the chambers and that it will only stress Merlin and make his condition worse if that happens."

"Hm," said Morgana, an idea beginning to form in her head. "Maybe I can talk some sense into that thick skull of his and convince him to go see his father."

She strode out of the room, waiting until her back was to Gwen before allowing a smirk to form on her pale face.

* * *

"So," Arthur said, glaring at Lancelot who was seated on the other side of Merlin's bed, "tell me, what were you doing posing as one of King Alined's men, Lancelot?" Gaius was seated at the table, preparing a potion to relieve some of the pain once Merlin woke up. Gwaine was camping out in Merlin's bedroom at the moment in case Uther came back in. Arthur had told the man he was getting him a cloak as soon as possible. Until then, he was to stay out of sight.

Uther had either not recognized Lancelot, who had, admittedly, grown more facial hair and was more haggard than the last time, or he had simply decided to ignore him for the time being. After all, Lancelot technically hadn't been banished from Camelot for his lies. He had been offered by Arthur to become a knight but had refused, saying that maybe he would return once he had proved himself worthy of knighthood. Whatever the reason of Uther's ignorance, both Arthur and Lancelot were grateful for it. Gwaine, on the other hand,  _had_  been banished from Camelot on pain of death and Arthur had actually had to  _lock_  the man in Merlin's room for his own safety because Uther had barged in several times over the past few hours unannounced, trying to get Arthur to leave. Gwaine hadn't wanted to leave Merlin's side, but in the end the prince had given him no choice in the matter.

Lancelot smiled wearily and forced his gaze away from Merlin's bruised face. Gaius had managed to get a bit of broth down Merlin's throat earlier but even then the warlock had been only half-conscious, his throat muscles working on instinct. He was so still, so pale, so… deathlike that it seemed impossible that he would make it through this. "I was doing the same thing as you," Lancelot said, sighing. "Rescuing Merlin." A wry grin appeared on his face before it fled, almost as if afraid to remain on such a sullen face for too long. "I guess neither one of us realized what our rescue attempt would turn into."

"How did you know he was in trouble?" Arthur pressed, his head aching fiercely. He couldn't stop thinking about how Merlin the Idiot, Merlin the Warlock, Merlin his Friend, was on the verge of death, and how it was all Arthur's fault. He knew that having a pity-party wasn't going to help Merlin, so he was distracting himself by talking to Lancelot. At first it had merely been a ploy so he wouldn't have to think about what would happen if Merlin's heart came to a stop. If Merlin died because of him…  _No, don't go there. He's not dead and he's not going to die. I won't let him._

Lancelot ignored the reinvigorated banging on the door of Merlin's room and Gwaine's muffled, "Okay, I'll be good now. Will you let me out?"

"I heard that a powerful sorcerer was to be auctioned off." He told Arthur the whole story and as he did so, the prince's eyes continued to narrow.

"So, all this boils down to is that you already knew about Merlin's magic." Arthur knew he was being petulant but he was hurt that Merlin had trusted Lancelot with his secret, but not Arthur. Sure, his father was a king who killed all those with magic, but surely after  _three years_  Merlin would have realized that he could tell Arthur about his magic. The prince wouldn't have done anything to hurt him… would he? Arthur wondered that if the circumstances had been different, if he would have acted the same. He'd hope so, but everything was just so extreme and surreal at the moment, he was having trouble dealing with  _this_  reality, let alone what might have been.

"Arthur, I found out by mistake. It was Merlin who killed the griffon. I confronted him about it afterward and promised not to tell. He only wants to protect you."

"I know," said Arthur, his face softening as he gazed into the feverish face of his servant, his best friend. "He's a good man." His voice was on the verge of breaking.

Gaius, who had nearly had a conniption when he found out that Arthur knew about Merlin's magic, simply listened to their conversation, a warmth filling his heart as he learned how loyal Arthur was remaining to his servant. He just hoped that Merlin would live long enough to thank Arthur for his acceptance.

The door to his chambers opened once more and his heart lurched, afraid that Uther might have sent some guards to remove Arthur. He gasped. This was much worse – the Lady Morgana stood regally in the doorway, her intense gaze focused on Merlin with a look that chilled Gaius's heart.


	18. Chapter 18

"Arthur," Morgana said, relief flooding her voice. "You're back; you're alright." Her gaze dropped to the fevered, gravely injured Merlin lying on the bed. "Oh no," she breathed, although something was a bit off with her voice – or maybe Arthur was imagining it. He wouldn't doubt it, considering the stress level he was barely coping with at the moment. "What happened to Merlin?" she asked, taking a step closer to the bed. Gaius got to his feet and hurried forward.

"You should give him room, my lady," the physician said. "I believe that's close enough."

Lancelot eyed Morgana through slitted eyes. Arthur glanced from Gaius to Morgana to Lancelot and back to Morgana again, trying to interpret their reactions to her presence. No one seemed particularly pleased that Morgana was here. Gwaine, for his part, had finally shut up – because of Morgana's presence or boredom or because he was brooding no one knew. Percival and Matthew were at the apothecary, getting some more supplies for Gaius, so they obviously didn't react to Morgana's appearance at all, although if Arthur had to hazard a guess, since this was their first time in Camelot, they'd probably just drool and gawk like every other male that laid eyes on his father's ward for the first time.

Seeing that no one else was going to attempt to explain Merlin's pitiful condition, Arthur sighed wearily and answered, "He was kidnapped by bandits who wanted to sell him as a slave." It was close enough to the truth, he supposed.

Morgana's eyes narrowed slightly and Arthur had a feeling that she had seen right through his lies. She looked at Merlin, whose breathing was shallow and erratic, and murmured, "How awful." She shook her head as if trying to simultaneously shake off dark, brooding thoughts. She turned to Arthur, a bit more animated although her eyes were sullen. "I'm glad that you're alright. Keep me informed on Merlin's condition, will you?" With that, she strode out of the room and for the life of him Arthur couldn't seem to figure out why she looked so frustrated right before she left.

* * *

Morgana cursed once she was out of hearing range. Merlin looked as horrible as Morgause said, but even more so than she had imagined – he could die at any second. Not that Merlin dying bothered Morgana in the slightest, but she would really prefer to do the killing herself. She wondered briefly when she had become so cold-hearted and almost instantly the memory of the day Merlin poisoned her came to mind. And all the while, he had had magic. He had  _lied_  to her, made her feel like she was alone.

She  _hated_  him and wanted revenge. Merlin seriously looked like he may drop dead at any second, though, and Morgana couldn't very well get revenge on a man who was already dead. Never mind that, she couldn't even get near Merlin with Gaius and that pouty dark-haired knight wannabe onto her. Even Arthur had seemed a little guarded, as if he sensed something was a bit off. Maybe he had, or maybe she was just becoming paranoid. Either way, it seemed that Merlin was ailing worse than Morgause had thought. She decided to summon her sister and talk to her again tonight, try to think of a new plan.

One way or another, Merlin would pay.

* * *

"Tell me honestly, Gaius," Arthur said, already fearing the answer, "what chance of living does Merlin have?"

It was late. Arthur had finally conceded to let another servant help clean him up so that he could report to his father. Uther had been none too happy to hear the truth – well, the variation of the truth that Arthur had concocted that didn't have anything to do with Merlin possessing magic. "So you're telling me," the king had growled, "that your  _servant_  was abducted by slavers and that you not only decided to risk your life, to risk  _this kingdom's heir_ , for a mere serving boy, but you  _lied_  to me about it?"

"Would you have let me go after him if I told you the truth?" Arthur had asked calmly.

A vein in his father's forehead had twitched ever so slightly. "Of course not," Uther had scoffed. "I understand that you have grown some sort of  _attachment_  to the boy," he went on with a slight tone of distaste in his voice. "However, as I have told you many times before, his life, the life of a simple servant is  _worth less_  than yours. You can't just go running off to a peasant's rescue at every turn."

Uther had lectured him about how he should have just gone home, leave Merlin to the mercy of the "slavers," and forget about his servant, going about his daily life like nothing had happened. While Arthur understood that he had risked a lot to save Merlin, he didn't agree that Merlin was worthless  _or_  worth less. If what these prophecies Gaius had told him about were true, it would take  _both_  of them – Merlin  _and_  Arthur – to make Camelot a great place of peace someday. Besides, Merlin was his  _friend_  and he hadn't been prepared to let him go without a fight. He had done what he had to and didn't regret it. Hell, he'd do it again in a heartbeat if the same thing happened again.

Uther had also seen fit to yell a bit about how ridiculous it was for Arthur to have refused to leave his servant's side, ill or not. Arthur had done a bit of shouting back, but looking back on their argument, he wasn't all sure what he said. He had been so exhausted, so angry, his mind flying in circles that he really couldn't care to remember.

Now Gaius looked at him sympathetically before glancing at the too-still form of his ward with misty eyes. "I fear the chances are not good," the old physician admitted. One of his hands was resting on the cot beside Merlin, the boy's smooth, limp, and cold hand clutched gently in the old man's wrinkled, warm one. One thumb was lightly rubbing small circles on the back of Merlin's hand and Arthur found himself staring at the small movement. It was such a simple gesture, Gaius holding Merlin's hand as the young warlock fought for life, but it was  _so_ much more than that. The sight of Merlin's guardian tenderly keeping watch over his patient made chills appear on Arthur's arms.

A loud snore came from Merlin's room, where Gwaine and Lancelot were staying. Lancelot had brought the "prisoner" dinner before retreating into the room as well, graciously offering to take the floor so the still pouting Gwaine could have the bed. It seemed like Gwaine had finally succumbed to his exhaustion and had fallen asleep. Arthur almost wished for the man's complaints again, though, because his snoring was grating on the prince's nerves more than his voice had. Matthew was sitting on a stool next to Merlin's head, periodically checking his pulse and temperature – acting as the physician so that Gaius could just be with Merlin. Percival was sitting in a corner, watching sadly. The scene was so somber, so final, that Arthur thought he was going to lose control of his emotions and throw a fit like a child.  _It wasn't fair!_

It was like Gaius had already resigned himself to Merlin's death, the way he searched the boy's face with a deep sorrow, the way he seemed to cherish every struggling breath Merlin took. Matthew looked grim as well, shaking his head as he felt Merlin's pulse for the umpteenth time. "He's fading." The healer's face contorted. "I'm so sorry,  _gods_ , I'm so sorry! It shouldn't be him dying, it should be me. I can't believe Merlin did that – that he _took_  my injury for me!"

Gaius's face was a mask of grief. "Merlin is many things," he said softly, using his free hand to wipe a strand of sweaty hair from Merlin's forehead, his wrinkled fingers lingering on the burning skin a few seconds longer than necessary. "Caring, gentle, kind… and selfless. It is his greatest flaw  _and_  his greatest attribute." The physician sighed. "He doesn't think before he helps people. He sees hurting and wants to fix it. He doesn't think about the consequences." He sighed, his thumb still rubbing the top of Merlin's hand. "And I couldn't be more proud of him."

"Idiot," Arthur accused. He reached out his hand on an impulse, wanting to comfort his friend, but felt self-conscious. He wasn't good with feelings and showing that he cared about friends wasn't something he was well-practiced with. In the forest, with the stakes being so high and the fear being so raw and real, Arthur had had no trouble stroking Merlin's hair as a gesture of comfort, of begging the unconscious warlock not to give up and die. Here, though, Merlin's wounds were not visible under the swaths of bandages. Gaius was here, holding Merlin's hand and Matthew was keeping watch on the boy's vitals. Arthur felt useless, like nothing he said or did, no matter if he reached out to the dying Merlin or not, that all was lost. Merlin wouldn't hear him.

He was helpless; he couldn't help his best friend.

Cursing, no longer able to stay here and watch Gaius and Matthew tend fruitlessly to Merlin, he stood up, mumbling something about needing fresh air, and stalked out of the room. As he was walking toward the battlements, where he liked to look out and think, a hand flew out from a dark corridor and he spun.

"Morgana?" he asked, confused, as his father's ward pulled him into the alcove. "What's wrong?"

Morgana smiled and hugged him gently. "Arthur, I've got wonderful news!" she gushed. Arthur thought about Merlin, how he was dying, and scoffed. He doubted anything could be wonderful right now.

"What is it?" he asked solemnly.

"I've found a way to cure Merlin!" the girl said, tears brimming in her eyes.

" _What?_  That's… that's not possible… he's… dying."

"Ah," said Morgana, tilting her chin up in that stubborn way she had, "but I've done some research and I'm going to tell you something you have to  _promise_  not to tell your father, Arthur."

His heart rate spiked. Was Morgana talking about magic? But how we she know a magical means to save Merlin? Did she know about Merlin's magic somehow? Suspicion crept into his mind but he brushed it away. This was  _Morgana_  he was talking to. She  _cared_  about Merlin and was loyal. Maybe she really  _had_  found a way to save Merlin!

"Yes?" he asked urgently, trying to keep the shred of hope from his voice.

"There is a place, not terribly far from here, just beyond the White Mountains," she said slowly, keeping eye contact the whole time. "A place where Magic exists in its purest forms." Her voice was a whisper now, her words enticing Arthur, causing him to move closer without even realizing he was doing it. "In my  _research_ , legend says that it is in this place where life can be restored to one who is fatally ill or dying. It holds a legendary artifact, The Cup of Life, and powers beyond human imagination. Maybe," she said, breathless, "maybe  _there_ we can restore life to Merlin."

Hope burned in Arthur's heart. Something, words spoken at an earlier time, perhaps, tickled at the back of his mind but he couldn't bring himself to care. Something about a balance; what was it Matthew had said? He shook off the memory. Did it matter? If Morgana was right, if whatever source she had was correct, Merlin could be healed.

Arthur blinked tears out of his eyes and rested his hands on her shoulders, leaning in until he was face to face with Morgana. "What is it?" he asked. "Where is this place?"

"You must travel," Morgana said, smiling mysteriously, "to a place called the Isle of the Blessed."


	19. Chapter 19

Morgana's words reverberated through Arthur's mind.  _You must travel to a place called the Isle of the Blessed._ Arthur had never heard of such a place but it sounded ancient, sacred, and  _magical_. How Morgana had managed to run across it in her research, he didn't know, because if it was indeed a mystical place, it wouldn't be in any of the volumes available to the public in the hall of records – books of magic had either been burned or locked away in a vault deep within the bowels of the castle. Still, even though the circumstances were almost suspiciously convenient, Arthur didn't dwell on it – all he knew was that Merlin was  _dying_  and would be dead within a day if nothing was done. A way of saving him – through magical means – had been presented to Arthur and he  _had_ to take it. What other choice did he have?

Sure, it was magic, and magic was illegal. Yes, if Arthur actively went on a quest to this Isle and procured a magical cure, he would be committing treason. But, he reminded himself, he was already planning on breaking the law to keep Merlin – a sorcerer – from his father, so the damage was already done, he supposed.  _If you just let this go, let_ him _go,_  a nasty little voice in the back of his head said,  _then you won't have to worry about breaking the law in any form or fashion…_

But Arthur  _refused_  to turn his back on Merlin when the loyal idiot needed him the most. Yes, Merlin had magic, and yes, Arthur had yet to come to terms with the amount of power his supposedly weak manservant possessed. What it all boiled down to, however, was that  _it didn't matter_. Right now, all that mattered was Merlin and making him well again. Arthur couldn't just let Merlin die, not after everything Merlin had been through – not to mention all that he, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Matthew had gone through to keep him alive this long. He _couldn't_ let Merlin down, not again.

He looked up, meeting Morgana's determined gaze, and nodded resolutely. "Tell me everything I need to know about this place," he demanded firmly. "I'll leave immediately."

Morgana smiled, though it was more of a smirk, and nodded. "I'm coming with you," she said.

Arthur shook his head immediately. "No, it's too—"

"Dangerous?" Morgana answered for him, her voice mocking. "Don't worry, Arthur, I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. You should know that by now."

Arthur sighed, tired of having to go through this same conversation every time Morgana wanted to go on a quest with him. He knew how it would end, anyway – every argument with his father's ward ended the same, with Morgana getting her way. He didn't have time to debate this right now –  _Merlin_ didn't have time for it. Besides, Morgana was the one who knew about the Isle and how he would go about trying to rescue Merlin. It would probably be beneficial to have her along. He nodded curtly. "I'm leaving in half an hour," he said. "Meet me at the stables and  _don't_  be late."

She nodded again and started to leave, but Arthur called her back. "Do I need to bring Merlin?" Arthur wondered.

Morgana smiled. "No," she said. "As long as the exchange is made, no matter where he is when he drinks the potion, he'll come through." She quickly clamped her lips shut as if she had said too much.

Arthur might have asked what "exchange" Morgana was talking about, but he didn't because he was so wrapped up in his own doubts and worries. Morgana was the only one who knew how to get Merlin out of this situation and if trusting her blindly was what it would take to restore Merlin back to life, then he would gladly do it. After all, she  _was_  Morgana, after all – she had a kind heart and was always one to help her friends, so he had nothing to worry about.

Perhaps – just perhaps – if he had seen the cruel smirk of satisfaction on Morgana's face as she turned away to prepare for the "rescue" mission, he wouldn't have been so sure. As it was, though, he allowed a small bit of hope to light inside of him, a hope that maybe they would all make it out of this one, after all.

* * *

Gaius didn't know what Morgana was up to, but it was painfully obvious that the seer was plotting. When she had first appeared in his chambers, eyes fixed on a prone Merlin, the old physician had felt his heart palpitate wildly in fear for his ward. Merlin was gravely injured, fading from blood loss and the terrible injury he had sustained, unable to defend himself. Just the thought of Merlin at Morgana's mercy sent shivers of dread down Gaius's spine. When Morgana had left, Gaius had been relieved but also more than his fair share of nervous – he knew Morgana well enough to know that she wasn't going to leave this alone for long, especially if she knew the truth about Merlin's magic via Morgause. If she did know, which Gaius was sure she did, he knew that the girl would be gunning for revenge.

Now he watched with a breaking heart as Merlin lay there, struggling for each precious breath. Each time he breathed out, Gaius watched and prayed that he would take another. He was alone with his ward now, as Gwaine (now wearing a cloak to hide his identity), Lancelot, Percival, and Matthew were scouring the hall of records for  _anything_  that might help Merlin, no matter how futile. Geoffrey, who oversaw the hall of records, had been reluctant to allow a few strangers go through his impressive collection of tomes, but when a distressed Gaius explained the situation, he agreed to let them try and find a way to save their friend. Gaius had been the one to suggest they go look for a cure, but he had a feeling that they all knew he wanted some time with Merlin – alone.

"Oh, my boy," Gaius sighed, adjusting the blanket over Merlin, trying to keep the tears from flowing.

"G-Gai…s?"

The frail whisper Gaius to nearly jump from his seat beside Merlin's bed. As it was, his eyes flew open and he leaned forward over Merlin, who had just squinted open his pain-filled blue eyes. Could this be a sign that he was getting better? Gaius doubted it, considering the severity of the wound, but at least Merlin wasn't completely unresponsive. "Merlin," Gaius said, voice shaking. "How are you feeling?"

He knew it was a stupid question the moment it escaped his mouth. Merlin blinked, not seeming to comprehend the query. "Gaius," he rasped. "How…?" He winced, sucking in his breath as the massive wound in his stomach twitched with pain.

"Shhh…" said Gaius.

"H-hurts," Merlin said, eyes glazed over. His teeth chattered together and Gaius felt Merlin's brow for the umpteenth time. His fever was still dangerously high, his body weakened by his injuries.

Gaius felt his heart constrict at the agony written across Merlin's deathly pale face, the tremble in his voice. Merlin wasn't supposed to be like this – sick, scared, hurt, weak. Merlin was supposed to be healthy, if not a bit peaky, happy, sarcastic, strong. This was  _so_  wrong. Gaius mentally cursed the renegade druids that set this whole nightmare into motion in the first place by kidnapping Merlin during Arthur's hunt.

"I'm so sorry, Merlin," Gaius soothed. "I know it hurts." He glanced around, realizing that he hadn't expected Merlin to wake up at all in his condition. He didn't have any more herbs for reducing the pain and would have to go get some from the apothecary – he was beyond the point of caring if it was the middle of the night and everything was closed. This was Merlin, this was an emergency. Suddenly regretting his decision of sending everyone away, Gaius sat beside the bed and absentmindedly patted Merlin on the shoulder, not wanting to leave him alone. In his condition, Merlin needed someone with him at all times,  _especially_  when Morgana was roaming the castle looking for vengeance.

Just then, the door to his chambers opened and a very flustered Arthur Pendragon rushed into the room, face slightly flushed and a wild look in his blue eyes. "Gaius," Arthur said.

The physician smiled wanly at the perfect timing. "Sire. I'm glad you're here – could you stay here with Merlin while I go and fetch something for the pain?"

Arthur blinked at the question, which sounded more like an order than anything, but nodded nonetheless. "Of course," he said. Gaius hurried from the room.

Arthur sat down in the physician's seat, avoiding looking at the hurting, limp form of his servant on the bed beside him. He couldn't stand to see Merlin in so much pain. Especially when it could have been avoided if Arthur hadn't decided to infiltrate Cenred's army and get Merlin recaptured again. Or, he thought grimly, if he hadn't forced Merlin to go on that stupid hunting trip in the first place.

So immersed in his own thoughts as he was, Arthur nearly fell out of the chair when he heard a weak voice say, "D-don't think t-too hard… Might g-get hurt."

"Merlin?" Arthur breathed, his eyes instantly finding the deep blue ones that had remained closed for too long. What he saw wasn't much different than how Merlin had looked since the prince had found him, except that his eyes were open. Merlin's brow was sweaty yet he was shivering. He was so frail and weak under the blankets and there were dark circles and bruises on his face. He didn't seem to have the strength to move anything, save for his mouth. Typical, Arthur almost snorted, that Merlin's mouth would be running even when the rest of him was incapacitated. The prince sobered from his little joke almost immediately upon the realization that if the journey to the Isle of the Blessed didn't go well, this might very well be the last time he ever saw Merlin with his eyes open again. The thought made him ill. "I—"

"I need—" Merlin rasped, unfocused eyes roving around drunkenly until they found Arthur's, "t-to t-talk to you."

"Not now," said Arthur, swallowing thickly. "When you get feeling better, yeah?"

"N-no," Merlin refused stubbornly. Arthur couldn't help but smile weakly – even gravely injured Merlin had enough bullheadedness in him to try and give the orders.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur reprimanded gently, causing a miniscule smile to tug wearily at the corner of Merlin's lip, "you are hurt. Badly."

Merlin's right eyebrow twitched and Arthur had a feeling that had Merlin not been so weak, that eyebrow would have been close to his hairline by now. "Wow," Merlin snorted. "I'm s-so glad y-you t-told me. N-n-never would've figured-d that out."

"Idiot," Arthur responded fondly. The back of his throat was burning, tears pushing at the corners of his eyes. Even when he was so close to death, Merlin was the same man… servant… warlock. The same  _friend_. Arthur's resolve strengthened. Damn the law. He was more determined than ever to go to the Isle of the Blessed and do what it would take to get Merlin well again. "I'm going to make you better," Arthur promised.

Merlin smiled but it was forced. "I w-was born with m-magic," he stuttered, determined to get the truth out before he died. The wound, combined with blood loss, malnutrition, and the fever, was killing him and he knew it.

Arthur shook his head, clasping Merlin gently on the shoulder. "No," he ordered in his very best "I-am-the-prince-do-as-I-say-or-die" voice. "Not now. You can – no, you  _will_  – tell me  _everything_  once you've been cured."

Merlin's eyes were watery. "Arthur," he coughed. "I—"

"I have a plan," Arthur interrupted. "I'm going to go to a place, a place that might hold the answers to the cure for you."

"What?" Merlin asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

"Don't worry," said Arthur as the door to Gaius's chambers creaked open once again, revealing the physician that was returning with some herbs to help ease Merlin's pain while conscious. "It'll be fine, Merlin, and you'll be back to being the most incompetent, rude, and lazy servant I've ever had in no time. Gaius," he acknowledged, nodding at the court physician, before squeezing Merlin's shoulder once more and saying, "I'll be back. I promise." He strode from the room, his eyes suspiciously bright.

* * *

Morgana met Arthur at the stables at the arranged time. Arthur had enlisted the help of Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival to accompany him on the quest to the Isle of the Blessed. When he had found them in the hall of records and told them he needed their assistance on a mission to save Merlin, they had agreed instantly. Arthur hadn't told them much about the quest, mainly because he didn't know much more about it than they did – Morgana was the one who had done the research, but where she had found the information, Arthur still wondered – and was going to tell them more about how the Isle of the Blessed would cure Merlin on the way.

Arthur needed all the help he could get from his friends and he knew it. He certainly didn't want to go with only himself and Morgana because he had no idea what to expect, and he knew that his father wouldn't send any knights, let alone let Arthur go, if he knew the purpose of the mission, let alone that it involved magic. The three men he had chosen already knew about Merlin's magic anyway, and two of them weren't exactly welcome in Camelot, so it was for the best. Besides, the more men on the quest, the bigger chance they had to succeed. He hadn't asked Matthew to come along because the man, while helpful when it came to medicine and healing, wasn't a warrior and Arthur really didn't need anyone else to take care of – not that he was actually "taking care of" Morgana, because, as she  _loved_  to make clear every chance she got, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

When Lancelot saw Morgana waiting for them at the stables, he stopped. "She's coming along?" he asked. Arthur shrugged, smiling a bit ruefully. "Would  _you_  like to tell her she can't come along?" he only half-joked. He patted the dark-haired man on the shoulder, chuckling wearily. "Don't worry about her, Lancelot – I've known her for years; she can fend for herself." He nodded in Morgana's direction casually. "Besides, she's the one who came across this cure, so she'll have to be the one to lead us there."

Lancelot almost choked on air and Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man's strange behavior. " _Morgana_ ," Lancelot said in a slow, measured voice, "is the one who suggested this mission?" For some reason he looked worried, although Arthur just couldn't figure out why that was.

"Yes," the prince responded, his tone confused. "Why?"

Lancelot shook his head slightly, a determined gleam in his eyes. "Nothing." It was obvious that he was lying but Arthur didn't press him.

Gwaine had been unnaturally quiet the entire trek to the stables. It was almost unnerving to have the normally chatterbox of a man be so quiet and withdrawn but no one tried to push him to talk. It was obvious that he was worried about Merlin. Somewhere in the time since they met, Merlin had become Gwaine's closest friend and the man would do  _anything_  to save him. Like Merlin, Gwaine's loyalty was strong, especially when it involved those he cared about. Arthur felt a pang of jealousy as he thought about how Gwaine and Merlin were close friends. He knew without a doubt that Gwaine considered Merlin to be his  _best_  friend – the man didn't even have to voice it. It was there for all to see.

Arthur had just realized recently, since this whole mess started, that his  _best_ friend was none other than Merlin. Magic or no magic, Merlin never failed to be there for Arthur, not when it mattered, anyway. Sure, he was often (and by often, Arthur meant  _always_ ) late and he wasn't the most efficient at his chores and he liked to talk back, but Merlin was open and honest. He told Arthur the truth even when the truth was the last thing Arthur wanted to hear.

He cared about Arthur, helped him, made him laugh (however begrudgingly), and had an uncanny way of touching the lives of almost everyone he came into contact with. He had probably changed Arthur the most, the prince reflected as he thought back to the way he had behaved  _before_  that gangly idiot had bumbled into his life. Seeing how much Gwaine cared about Merlin, Arthur couldn't help but wonder who Merlin thought of as  _his_ best friend. Surely it wouldn't be him, Arthur thought, because although Arthur had begun to think of Merlin as not just his servant, but his  _friend_ , when had he ever acted like a friend to Merlin? He was always calling him names, forcing him to do demeaning chores, and throwing things at him. The pang of jealousy struck again as Arthur thought about how Merlin must like Gwaine and Lancelot and maybe even Percival, whom he had just met, more than Arthur because they weren't afraid to show their loyalty or admit that they cared about their friend.

Cursing himself for those stupid, emotional,  _girlish_ thoughts at this crucial time, Arthur set his gaze ahead resolutely and quickened his pace, causing his three companions to have to work to keep up with him as they walked the last few yards to the stables where Morgana was standing in her armor and breeches, sword buckled to her white mare's saddle. "Where are we going again?" Gwaine finally spoke up. He paused, frowned, and amended, "Actually, where are we going,  _period_? I don't think you ever told us, and while I'd go to the ends of the earth to make sure Merlin lives, I'd  _like_  to have some idea of what I'm getting myself into, y'know."

While Lancelot and Percival nodded, Arthur sighed. "Morgana said that we can find a way to cure Merlin in a place beyond the White Mountains. The Isle of the Blessed."

He spoke the name with reverence and the other three men didn't speak, only chewed on their individual thoughts in silence.

"Well," said Gwaine glumly, "that sure clears it up."

They reached the stables. "Are you ready?" Morgana asked, her eyes narrowing at the sight of the three extra rescuers, although she didn't comment. "It'll take a little while to get there."

"And Merlin doesn't have much time," Arthur added.

"No," Morgana agreed, her voice strangely morbid. "No, he does not." Underneath her breath, so quietly that no one heard the words other than a indistinct whisper, she murmured, "And neither do you."

They set off immediately, Morgana promising to tell them more as they rode. Arthur, along with his friends, were prepared to do whatever it took to save Merlin, although none of them could have ever foreseen how steep the price for Merlin's life would be. Even if they  _had_  known, though, it was unlikely that they would have made any other choice. Merlin had done, sacrificed, and risked so much for them already and they were going to repay him, even if it  _killed_  them – and that, unfortunately, was a very distinct possibility, one that no one really fancied, but that was there regardless.

It was time to return some loyalty and give back to their friend. All four men agreed that if there was a man loyal, brave, and kind enough to risk their lives for, it would be Merlin.


	20. Chapter 20

Gaius turned to Merlin when Arthur had left. He hated to press the boy for answers, when he was so weak and close to death's door, but something about the gleam in Arthur's eye made Gaius wary. Just  _what_  was he planning this time? Gaius could still hardly believe that Arthur  _knew_  the truth about Merlin and had all but accepted it. It seemed like Arthur's loyalty to Merlin had gone to new heights after this revelation – perhaps because the prince was now aware of all Merlin had done for him – and while Gaius was grateful, he knew it could also mean trouble. If Arthur ended up getting himself killed to save Merlin, Camelot's bright future would be doomed, not to mention that there would be  _no_  bounds to Merlin's anger. The only time the old physician had known Merlin to be truly, fiercely angered was when Nimueh had taken his life in exchange for Merlin's mother's, and even then, he'd only seen the results – no Nimueh in sight, just a heap of barely smoking ashes and a rainstorm of all rainstorms.

A surge of pride welled up inside of Gaius as he thought about that day. Merlin had saved his life, defeated a wicked sorceress,  _and_  mastered the power over life and death. No wonder the druids, or  _most_  druids, at any rate, held him in such reverence, he held such a great power. But it hadn't been just his powerful magic alone that had brought Gaius back or healed Matthew – it had been Merlin's  _heart_. His kindness, his love… Merlin was truly a unique person. Powerful yet the kindest soul he'd yet to meet. As he looked down at his suffering ward, Gaius had to look away almost instantly to hide the tears beginning to flow from his eyes. He didn't want Merlin to see him weep. He didn't want Merlin to lose hope. And yet, Gaius realized,  _he_  was already on the brink of doing so himself.

No, Merlin  _could not_  die. He  _had_  to be saved – for Albion, the future of Camelot, for Arthur, for the druids, for innocent magic users everywhere, for the good of the world, and, of course, for Gaius's more selfish reasons, because he couldn't bear to lose Merlin. He just couldn't.

"Gaius." Merlin's voice was frail and weak, a far cry from the strong, determined young warlock's tone that Gaius had heard many times over the past several years when the boy was about to do something either incredibly stupid, noble, or both.

Gaius hastily, discreetly wiped his eyes and turned back to Merlin, placing a withered old hand on the warlock's shoulder. He almost recoiled at the heat of Merlin's fevered skin, able to feel it even through his thin shirt. "Yes, my boy?"

"Arthur… up to somethin'…" Merlin murmured, fighting a losing battle with his eyelids as unconsciousness sought to claim him once more.

Gaius wasn't sure how to respond. He had the same suspicion, considering the prince's promise to make Merlin better and quick exit moments before, but he didn't want Merlin to worry about him. Then again, he reminded himself ruefully, this  _was_  Merlin. That boy worried over Arthur no matter what, and not just because Arthur was his "destiny" – but because they were best friends, two sides of the same coin. And now one side of the coin was dying, the other more than likely out on some suicide mission to save the other half. Which meant, unless someone did something to stop the currently stupid and impulsive side, there would be  _no_  coin come sunrise. And this was one coin Camelot could not afford to lose. Gaius swallowed past a lump in his throat as Merlin slipped under once more, body going limp and eyes rolling into his head.  _He_  could not afford to lose Merlin.

Sighing, Gaius sat down, not willing to leave Merlin's side to find one of his other rescuers – Lancelot, preferably, because he seemed to have the coolest head of the lot – and find out what was going on. To his relief, just a few minutes after he had resigned himself to a nerve wracking wait for either Arthur to return from whatever quest he had embarked upon, victorious, or for him  _not_  to return (or return empty-handed) and for the inevitable to happen, Matthew the physician walked into the chambers.

"Ah, Matthew, I'm glad you're here. I need to—"

"The Lady Morgana," Matthew interrupted his eyes wide. "Is she dangerous at all? Can she be trusted?"

Gaius forced down the nausea at the thought of her involvement in all of this. His voice was urgent when he snapped, "Yes, she is  _very_  dangerous – and you would have to be a great fool to trust her."

"Well, then," Matthew said, his voice trembling slightly, "I fear Prince Arthur may be a  _great_  fool."

"What do you mean?" Gaius was pretty sure he knew exactly what Matthew meant, but he had to ask anyway, just in case.

"Arthur just took Gwaine, Percival, and Lancelot on some sort of quest with him. I followed them as far as the stables, just to see what direction they were going to ride in, and I heard that the mission was the Lady's idea and that she's guiding them to Merlin's cure."

Gaius felt faint and barely managed to make it to a seat before he sunk down. "Oh, dear," he breathed. "Arthur is walking into a trap."

"Do you know where she's taking them?" Matthew asked anxiously.

"I don't know for sure," Gaius sighed heavily, "but I do have a few ideas – and none of them are very good."

"What can we do?"

Gaius glanced at Merlin again. "I don't know that there's much we  _can_  do, Matthew. After all, Morgana and her sister – you saw her, Morgause-"

"Yikes, yes, I saw her. No wonder I didn't trust Morgana from the start."

"—are powerful sorceresses. The only person who really stands a chance against them is…" He paused, gazing down at Merlin's face, currently pinched with the pain.

"…Merlin," Matthew finished grimly. "And there's no way he's up to stopping  _anyone_  in his state."

Gaius brushed a few strands of sweaty hair from Merlin's hot brow and murmured his agreement. "Not without a miracle."

* * *

They had been riding for nearly two hours when the lake came into view. All the travelers stopped, gazing out at the dark waters. A light fog misted over the surface and the water lapped hungrily at the shore. The sky seemed darker over the water, the wind a bit stronger than it had been. Arthur decided this was just his imagination, but this lake they were at and the island in the middle beckoned and repelled him. An electric air of mystery surrounded his body, the mystical vibes eating into his very bones. He shivered, not sure what to think about the power already exhibited in this place. He turned to Morgana, who was staring out at the choppy waters with an unreadable, almost triumphant, expression on her face.

"And you're sure we'll find a way to save Merlin here?" he asked, trying to ignore the ominous feeling forming in his gut.

Morgana looked surprised to hear him speak, almost as if she had been in a sort of daze, but nodded her head. "Yes, according to my, er, research." She seemed nervous, distracted.

"Arthur, maybe we should turn back—"

Arthur spun on Lancelot, eyes blazing. "And leave Merlin to die?" he spat incredulously. "After all he did for us? After the  _hell_  he's been through? After…?" He glanced at Morgana, broke off, then finished, "I thought you _cared_."

Lancelot glared at Arthur. "I  _do_  care, and that's  _why_  I'm suggesting we turn back now – for  _both_  your sakes." He glanced at Morgana, whose eyes were narrowed dangerously. Arthur barely noticed as he glared stonily at Lancelot. "We don't know what's waiting on the island. We don't know if the 'source' of Morgana's research is accurate, or if it can be trusted. What if… What if we're walking into a trap?"

Morgana huffed loudly and rolled her eyes. "That is the most  _ridiculous_ thing I've ever heard," she spat. "Be careful, 'Sir' Lancelot," she purred, taking a step closer to the man, "or you might convince Arthur that your loyalties lie somewhere else. We're here for  _Merlin_ , remember?"

"That's it," Lancelot ground out. The look on his face was murderous. "How  _could_ you?"

"How could he what?" Gwaine spoke up. He glanced at Percival, who didn't speak but watched the scene with narrowed eyes. "Are we missing something here?"

"Look," Arthur cut in, nerves frazzled. He didn't know what was going on, but he wasn't about to let whatever drama was playing out between Morgana and Lancelot (honestly, to be arguing at a time like this, when Merlin's _life_  was on the line?) get in the way of what he had come here to do. "Morgana's right. This is about  _Merlin_. So let's get on that boat—" he gestured to the boat lying on the shore by the lake, "—and find a way to save him."

"Finally, some sense," Gwaine nodded. "That's the way I like my plans – short, sweet, and to the point. Go in, find the cure, get out, save Merlin. Then go to the tavern." He smiled a bit dreamily. "That's the way all of my plans end, you know."

"With a tavern?" Percival spoke up, cocking an eyebrow.

"Hell yes," Gwaine agreed, grinning. "And I'm just about sober now, so I'm due to a trip to the tavern any time now – so what say you we get this show on the road and find Merlin his cure so we can  _all_  get a drink and celebrate a job well done, eh?"

Arthur couldn't help but smile, if not a bit wanly. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Morgause didn't understand. She stood by the altar on the Isle of the Blessed, brown eyes roving the ruins of the castle that had once been there for any sign of life. There was none, and the Cup of Life was nowhere in sight. The lack of life giving cup wasn't as worrisome to the sorceress, for she knew that to keep it hidden and safe, most priests or priestesses of the Old Religion concealed it with magic and the Cup could only be summoned or revealed by those with the power over life and death itself. She knew that if she found such a person, the Priestess said to be residing here, that the Cup, too, would not be far away.

Morgause also had a feeling that she wouldn't have any problem convincing the Priestess to save  _Emrys_. Everyone in the magical community, at least those that were learned, knew the prophecies and the importance of the most powerful warlock ever to exist. She scoffed at the thought. Merlin, a sorcerer. It  _still_ didn't make sense to her. She would just have to  _conveniently_ leave out anything about her plans to destroy said warlock after he was healed, and in the Pendragon's place.

Of course, after finding out Merlin was Emrys, it didn't take too much thought to connect Prince Arthur with the prophesied "Once and Future King" … but no one else should know that. Morgause had only figured it out because she knew Merlin was Arthur's servant and protector. Anyone else, even a High Priestess, she'd wager, would laugh at the idea of the son of the tyrant being a figure of legend. Once Morgause might have tried to support the return of magic through Emrys and the Once and Future King, but not anymore, not after all she had witnessed. Now, she was doing this  _her_  way – starting with the destruction of Merlin and his "destiny".

Her cunning plan, however, didn't make up for the fact that there was no one on the Isle. It looked to have been deserted for quite some time. She glanced to the left and saw the boat slowly knifing through the water toward her, several figures on board. She cursed, knowing Morgana was leading the prince – and who else? – here, into their trap, at this very moment, but she had no Priestess, no Cup.

Suddenly her vision went dark and when it returned a second later, it was to a pair of brilliant blue eyes set in a porcelain pale face, framed by silky dark hair, looming before her. She gasped, knowing this was only a vision but nearly overwhelmed by the power, anyway. "Who…?" she muttered.

_I am Nimueh, Priestess of the Old Religion… or at least I was._

"What happened?" Morgause asked the vision-priestess, eyes wide.

_I was killed by the one that now has the power of life and death, the power of the Cup, in his hands. He killed me for taking the life of his precious physician, and my life became the old man's._

Physician? Old man?

Everything made sense. "Merlin," she hissed.

 _Merlin…_ The vision of Nimueh agreed sinisterly. Then she was gone, and Morgause was alone… but not for long. The boat was closer now, her sister and the prince nearly on the Isle, and the only person with the power to take Arthur's life and restore it to the warlock's so that Morgause could kill  _him_  in turn  _was_  the dying Merlin himself. This certainly was a twist, Morgause decided.

This was going to be interesting.


	21. Chapter 21

From the moment Arthur set foot on the mysterious Isle of the Blessed, he knew that something was very, very wrong. It wasn't the almost palpable air of magic that hung over the whole island – ancient and powerful magic beyond any that Arthur had ever encountered, except maybe with Merlin's raw, instinctual outburst during the fight with Morgause and Cenred's army. While the feel of intense mystical power did permeate his senses, that in itself didn't make him fearful. It was both terrifying and intoxicating, and he found himself drawn by the Isle. Somehow he knew that this was a place that few without magic had ever set foot on. He should be honored.

Instead he felt scared. Not that he would own up to it, of course, because as a prince –  _the_  crown prince of Camelot – he didn't  _get_  scared. That was what he tried to tell himself but he knew it was a lie. He was scared, and had been scared before, plenty of times. He didn't think, however, that he had been quite as terror-struck as the moment that he'd seen Merlin's still, bloody form huddled lifelessly in Gwaine's shaking arms.

Now, this was a different kind of fear, but no less frightening. A wave of foreboding cascaded through him, wrapping its cold fingers around his quickly palpitating heart. He hadn't moved since stepping onto the sacred ground of the Isle of the Blessed, instead choosing to look upon the ruins of what must have been a majestic castle, fear curdling in his chest. He knew, just  _knew_ , that there was something very dark, very evil, and very _real_  on this island – something that didn't necessarily belong there but that was lying in wait for him and his party. It scared him more than he cared to admit.

The others could sense it too, he assumed, since no one, not even noble Lancelot nor impulsive Gwaine, dared to venture further just yet. Only Morgana seemed unfazed, choosing to walk calmly toward the ruins with a smooth, gliding gait. Arthur thought that she looked comfortable here, almost as if she knew where she was going. She turned, a bit annoyed, when she saw that no one was following her. Arthur was no coward, but he wasn't about to just walk into a trap, but she didn't seem to understand that. "Arthur," she said, her voice colder than the prince was used to. "Come on. What are you waiting for?"

Arthur glanced around, trading brief, concerned glances with Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival. "Something…" he said, trying not to sound unsure of himself but failing miserably. "Something's not right," he admitted.

Morgana's eyes narrowed fractionally. " _Merlin's_  life is at stake," she said, much more flippantly than Arthur would have liked. It was like the woman was using Merlin's condition to get Arthur to do what she wanted, which seemed to be running headlong into something that could potentially mean their deaths.

"I know that," Arthur snapped. "And I swear I'll do whatever I have to do to save him. But we have to think about this. If there's something out there that's against us, we'll have to outsmart it, or we'll be killed and Merlin will die, too."

Morgana was about to respond before her eyes grew wide and shifted toward the ruins. "You know what?" she said quickly, "you're absolutely right. We need to be logical." She paused. "I'll scout ahead, let you know when it's safe." She slipped away faster than Arthur could stop her.

"Damn," Arthur cursed. "Why does she have to be so  _stubborn_?"

He made to go after her, despite knowing her well enough to believe she could hold her own, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He spun to Lancelot, glaring. "What are you doing? I've got to stop her from getting herself killed!"

"Arthur," the black-haired warrior said seriously, his gaze sympathetic but firm. "There's something you should know."

Arthur's eyes turned to slits. "And what would that be, Lancelot?"

Lancelot took a deep breath, the eyes of Arthur, Gwaine, and Percival locked on him. Arthur could tell that the man was struggling with some sort of internal battle, more than likely trying to decide whether or not he should say what was on his mind. Irritated, Arthur demanded, "Speak! We've more important things to do than watch you fumble over your words."

Lancelot stared at him, all uncertainty gone. "Morgana," he said, "is not to be trusted. She's not your ally, nor Merlin's."

Arthur wondered if Lancelot knew that the words he spoke were bordering on treason. He couldn't go around accusing the king's ward of being disloyal! But something in the man's tone, his eyes, told Arthur that this wasn't just some cruel joke or attempt to sway Arthur into leaving Morgana. Lancelot  _believed_  what he was saying to be true.

But how could that be? It didn't make sense. "What are you talking about?"

Lancelot was dead serious as he spoke. "Merlin has spoken to me about this through his letters many times. Morgana is no friend of Camelot's – she is allied with the witch, Morgause, who is her half-sister, and seeks you and your father's downfall."

Arthur shook his head mutely, not willing to believe this. "No," he said hoarsely. "You're lying."

"That's not all."

"What  _more_  could there be?" Arthur hissed.

"She… Morgana is your father's daughter… your half-sister. She wants you dead so she can claim the throne for herself. I... I believe that she's led us into a trap."

* * *

Morgana had been more than eager to finally get this over with, lure Arthur and those pesky tagalongs into a trap, and finally –  _finally_  – have the traitor, Merlin, or  _Emrys,_ as she now knew, dead as well as his prince. But as soon as the boat stopped and they stepped onto dry land, the ancient magic of the Old Religion buzzing all around them, Arthur had halted, declaring that something wasn't right. Morgana was  _really_  beginning to hate that man's impeccable instincts.

But then there had been a flutter against her mind, Morgause contacting her. Her sister's words reverberated through the girl's head.  _There has been a change in plans, Morgana. Meet me, alone, as soon as you can, at the Altar._

And so she'd hurried away to meet Morgause, not sure she wanted to know what had gone wrong this time. Of all the things she could have imagined, though, she certainly didn't expect  _this_  – for  _Merlin_  being the one with power over life and death, the only one that could accomplish what they wanted. Something that they were sure they'd never convince him to do.  _Trade your life for Arthur's_. No, Merlin was too loyal to do that.

"But," Morgause said, after telling her sister about the vision of the deceased Nimueh and the twist of fate, "perhaps there  _is_  another way. We may not be able to convince the boy to trade his life for the prince's, but what of the king? Surely Merlin has no love for Uther Pendragon, even if he  _is_  a traitor to magic."

Morgana smiled. "And then Uther will be dead…"

"And  _we_ can have the pleasure of killing the great Emrys and Once and Future King ourselves," Morgause finished, "seeing as they aren't going about their prophecies very effectively."

"Yes," Morgana smirked. "But Sister, can you promise me one thing?"

"Anything," the blonde witch said, placing loving hands on her sister's shoulders. "What is it you wish?"

"Merlin," Morgana hissed, face twisted into the very image of hate, eyes reflecting just how much animosity she felt toward the magical serving boy. "Let me have him, play with him,  _kill_  him."

Morgause looked like she might object – after all, killing  _the_  Emrys would be something legendary to accomplish – but nodded after a few moments of deep thought. "Of course, Sister," she said. "He has hurt you and this is your chance for revenge. I will not deny you the pleasure."

"Thank you," Morgana breathed, twisted pleasure in her tone. She furrowed her eyebrows. "Now what?"

"Now," Morgause said, voice once again dripping with self-confidence, "we take Merlin, bring him here, and let him watch as his whole world comes crashing down around his ears."

Morgana giggled a bit madly at the mention of those large, goofy ears and imagined Merlin's face contorted in pain. She wondered briefly when she had become so hardened but shrugged it off. She had more important things to worry about.

Revenge would taste so sweet.


	22. Chapter 22

Arthur heard what Lancelot said but the words were so foreign and terrifying that he refused to entertain them at first. The thought of Morgana being the enemy was absurd – almost as crazy as the idea that Merlin had magic had been to Arthur, which, Arthur reminded himself dully, he did. But just because Merlin had magic didn't necessarily mean that Lancelot was right about Morgana being evil. He glared at the dark-haired man who had saved his life, several times in fact, and knew he was a man of honor.

Lancelot's eyes were serious, dark, and worried. There was no hint of doubt in his expression or voice that suggested he thought he could be wrong about Morgana's allegiance. Whether it was true or not, it was painfully clear that Lancelot fully believed what he had just revealed to the prince.

"No," said Arthur, shaking his head. "No, you're mistaken. Morgana wouldn't—"

"Arthur, I'm sorry," Lancelot said. "Maybe I should have told you before now. Hell, maybe  _Merlin_  should have told you. But seeing as you just found out about his magic, I can understand him being a bit wary about dumping all this onto you at once—"

"So you're telling me that Merlin  _really_ believes that Morgana is… in allegiance with  _Morgause_  and that she's my  _half-sister_?" Arthur demanded incredulously. "It doesn't make sense; she is risking everything to come with us, to help us find a cure for Merlin. How can you say she's conspiring against us when she's so determined to save him?" _It's a ruse, she's just playing you,_  the horribly logical part of Arthur's brain insisted but Arthur resolutely told it to shut the hell up. He just couldn't accept that Morgana wasn't who he thought she was. And the whole idea that she was his  _sister_? Ludicrous. Or was it?

"Arthur," Gwaine cut in, having inched forward while the prince and Lancelot were debating, his head poked around the corner of an enormous pile of ruins. He turned, face grim. "Maybe you should see this."

Arthur, heart sinking, silently walked forward and looked around the rubble at the courtyard. An altar was in the middle of the area, the ancient magic seeming to stem from it and thrive around it. Arthur's heart thudded wildly with anticipation and exhilaration at just breathing the air that was so rich with this mysterious power. And then his pulse spiked even faster at the sight of Morgana, the girl he had known for years and trusted with his life, embracing the blonde witch that Arthur despised so much before walking, side-by-side, into the forest.

He sank down to his haunches, a trembling hand finding its way over his closed eyes. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't… He forced himself not to think about Lancelot's claim that she was also his sister. That was something he didn't have proof of at the moment, something that he wasn't sure he could handle at all right now.

A burning sensation pushed at the back of his eyes. There was some mistake, there was no way Morgana was really with Morgause. She was enchanted… Or maybe she was playing along with the witch, trying to gain her trust while in actuality being loyal to Camelot. Or maybe…

He sighed heavily, the weight of his discoveries bearing down greatly on his mind and heart. "Damn," he cursed venomously, not sure how many more surprises he could handle. He found himself wishing that he could just go home, crawl into bed, and wake up to find that all this had been a very bad, very strange nightmare. And then Merlin – stupid, idiotic, not-dying,  _normal_  Merlin – would ask him what he had dreamed about that had him so shaken up. Arthur would tell him, and Merlin would laugh and make fun at his wild imagination—

A hand landed on his shoulder, bringing an abrupt halt to his fantasy. For a moment, the prince of Camelot didn't move; he just crouched there, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed tight, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. Percival's voice sounded from behind him and he said one of the longest sentences Arthur had ever heard from the man. "Trap or not, Merlin still needs you, Arthur."

It was all the prince needed to hear. After taking a deep, calming breath and shoving his rattled nerves aside for the time being, Arthur managed to stand up and nod once, more determined than ever to find that cure and set everything  _right_. He was sick and tired of being in the dark about things, of not knowing who he could trust – and he vehemently  _hated_  being helpless.

He had come to the Isle of the Blessed to find a way to save his servant. No, he hadn't expected to have his whole world turned upside down – again – by learning that Morgana might be his sister and still not loyal to him, but close to the enemy. Be that as it may, Percival was right – Merlin was still counting on them, and Arthur was going to do what he came to the Isle to do – or die trying.

Now that Morgana's true colors were beginning to be unmasked, now that Merlin was dying, each breath struggling not to be the last, now – now, it was personal.

* * *

Morgause smiled at her sister, eyes glittering maliciously. "Are you ready, sister? The spell to bring Merlin to the Isle is a difficult one, but with the two of us working together, especially in such an old and powerful place, we should have no problem."

Morgana nodded, her gaze a bit troubled

"What is it, sister? Surely you aren't having second thoughts about Merlin?"

Morgana laughed softly. "Of course not. But… how will we explain to Arthur that Merlin has suddenly appeared on the Isle?" She bit her lip. "Perhaps I should have told Arthur to bring Merlin along in the first place."

"You said so yourself, Morgana, the boy is in no state to travel – he might have died before Arthur and his men got him here, and then our plans would be no more. No, it is bnetter that we bring him here now. Besides," she added, "Arthur's time is almost up, as is Merlin's. At this point, there is no escape for anyone on the island – Arthur and his friends will die, and then you can have Merlin for your revenge. We will destroy the great Emrys and pave a new road toward the return of magic to Camelot,  _our_  way. And if Arthur finds out about your hatred of him and his own before he dies, so be it. He is trapped here on the Isle and he will die here. So do not fret."

Morgana smiled, relieved. "That's good."

Morgause nodded in agreement before indicating that they should link hands. "You remember the spell I told you?" Morgana dipped her head. "Very good."

Together they chanted, " _Pwerau tywyllwch, yn cymryd Emrys a do dag ef I Yns y Bendigaid!"_

Morgause and Morgana's magic, along with traces of the ancient, powerful magic that lurked in the woods around the altar, began to weave together, forming a great cloud above the Isle. "It's working!" Morgana cried out over the rumble of thunder. Morgause only smirked – she had been certain that it would. In a flash of light and an ear-splitting crack, it wasn't just the two sisters in the woods. Lying in front of them, injured gravely but still holding on, was Merlin – the legendary  _Emrys_  – and the expression in his pain-glazed eyes spoke volumes about how not-pleased he was to see them.

* * *

To say that Merlin was annoyed at Morgause and Morgana would be a massive understatement. He'd been worried sick about Arthur and his friends ever since through his unconsciousness, he had heard Matthew come bearing the news that the prat had gone running off with Morgana to find a cure. Sure, Merlin was grateful that his friends were going so far to try and save him, but unfortunately, Morgana  _wasn't_  his friend any longer. She obviously had a plan and he and Arthur were at the center of it. He wasn't in any condition to do anything about it, though, and his mind, barely clinging onto reality, had slipped into deeper unconsciousness once more. This was the last thing he remembered before opening his eyes to see Morgana and Morgause standing over him at the Isle of the Blessed.

His dreams had been terrifying and disjointed, images of Arthur dying terrible, excruciating deaths. He'd burned to a crisp in Kilgharra's out of control flames, been struck by lightning from Morgause's outstretched hand and turned into a pile of ashes like Nimueh had all those years ago, he had fallen to Morgana's sword because he refused to fight the girl he thought he knew and cared about. He had tried so hard to wake up, each dream of his best friend and master's demise chipping at his resolve to stay alive. If Arthur had gone with Morgana, he was doomed, and there was nothing Merlin could do about it. As hard as he tried, Merlin simply couldn't imagine going on without Arthur there at his side.

No Arthur, no prattish prince to protect, no destiny, no future…

Now he was waking up, confused and disoriented, the pain of his wounds and lethargy at blood loss plaguing him. This time, though, when he opened his eyes, it wasn't to a worried Gaius hovering over him, or a lamenting Matthew or even a guilt-ridden Arthur. It was to the last two people in the world he wanted to see – the sisters that had caused him to lose so much and were intent on making him suffer even more.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, Merlin managed to croak out, "What's going on?"

"An interesting story, actually,  _Emrys,_ " Morgause said, smug hatred lining her face. Merlin winced at the reminder of his other name, the identity that had set all this into motion.  _Why can't I just be_ Merlin? he griped mentally. "We had everything planned out, ready to extract our revenge—" Merlin swallowed heavily here, a small bit of fear beginning to worm up inside of him, "—only to learn something  _very_  interesting."

Merlin struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, something he hadn't been able to accomplish while lying in the patient's bed earlier. Miraculously, he felt a bit stronger than he had before, a bit more awake and alive. He felt the presence of the power on the Isle, the raw energy that was waiting for him to command it. Of course, that was what Morgana and Morgause wanted… the power over life and death that he and only he held. He managed to sit up, using the trunk of a nearby tree for support, letting the magic surrounding him give him the strength to do so.

"What did you learn?" he asked, although he had a pretty good idea about where this was going.

He was right. With a smirk, Morgana said, " _You_  have the power over life and death, don't you, Merlin?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'll go ahead and answer all your questions and demands in advance, so I can get to what's _really_  important," he said dryly, barely containing his irritation at the plotting sisters. "Yes, I have the power of life and death, yes I know how to conjure and use the Cup of Life, no, I won't use it to heal myself and no, I won't take anyone's life –  _especially_  Arthur's with it. If I'm to die, I'm to die. I'm not particularly interested in being your plaything for revenge. That being said, no, I'm  _not_  going to let you hurt Arthur without going through me first and  _no_ , no amount of bribing or trickery is going to get me to change my mind." Eyes glinting dangerously, sparks of gold in them, Merlin glared at the sisters, who barely kept themselves from backing up a few steps.

"Now," said Merlin, pleased that he had them nervous even though he was so injured that he couldn't stand or walk, "That's settled. So tell me,  _where is Arthur_?"


	23. Chapter 23

Suffice it to say, Morgana and Morgause were thrown through a bit of a loop when Merlin somehow managed not only to predict every question and demand that they were planning to send his way, but also answered them with such confidence and finality that it made them question themselves. It took a few minutes, but Morgause finally managed to break through the shock and, in a voice of someone talking to a very stupid, but very dangerous person, said, "Merlin, you don't know what you're saying. You're in too much pain, you're  _dying_. We don't want to hurt you, Merlin, we want to  _help_ you. You're one of us, remember? You have magic. We won't leave you to die. We want to help you  _live_."

Merlin snorted, sitting up a bit straighter and gaining some more energy from the magic surrounding him. "Right. I'm not even going to  _pretend_  to give that lie a second thought." He narrowed his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain of his injuries – or rather, he reflected,  _Matthew's_  injuries. Even though he had managed to sap a little strength from the ancient magic swathing the Isle of the Blessed, he was still weaker than he'd ever been and knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He was too injured. Morgause was right about one thing, without using his power over life and death, he was a goner, but he refused to do so – especially to save himself.

Morgana took a step forward, her skirts rustling as they brushed against the mossy forest floor. "You  _dare_ —"

"Yes," Merlin cut in. "I do  _dare_ , Morgana, although I  _should_  be asking the same question to you, after…" he fought back a gasp of pain as the wound on his torso throbbed painfully, but he fought through, "…after everything you've done, betraying those who care about you."

Morgana's face went as red as Merlin's neckerchief but before she could lash out in anger, Morgause put a calming hand on her sister's shoulder. "No, Morgana, do not let him bait you."

Merlin could feel himself slipping but he still didn't know where Arthur was or how the heck he was supposed to protect a prat that had gone missing. He closed his eyes slightly, letting the magic of the Isle fill him up a little more, and his eyes flashed gold. A wave of adrenaline coursed through him at the use of his magic and he shakily got to his feet and managed to stay there.

The witches' mouths fell open and they stared dumbly at Merlin, who was supposed to be so injured that he couldn't even sit on his own. Yet here he was, on the Isle of the Blessed, standing tall, chin held high, and eyes slowly fading from gold to blue.

What they couldn't know was that this was only a temporary fix. Yes, Merlin grew stronger while on the Isle of the Blessed, because its magic and his were connected by a bond that even he couldn't fully understand. Since he had the power of life and death, had earned it here when he killed Nimueh, he could feed off the energy here and slowly gain strength – maybe even begin to heal. But this was a place of the Old Religion, a place uncharted by most mortals. One step off this ancient ground and he would be right back where he started, which was why he had to remain on the Isle until he could find a way to fix this.

He drew in some more of the magic surrounding him and it mixed effortlessly with his own. Still shaky and weak, he took a few steps forward. "You're not going to win, Morgause," he said, looking the blonde in her wary brown eyes. "And neither are you, Morgana. I'm  _Emrys_  remember?"

He smiled with much more confidence than he felt before harnessing the mixture of his and the Isle's magic and releasing it at the two sisters, prepared to fight for his life, for Arthur's life, and for everything he stood for and believed in. Even though the effort to create such a spell, normally one that came fairly easily to him, caused him to become lightheaded and sick because of his wounds, he didn't let the exhaustion or pain show on his face.

Morgause summoned an invisible magical shield that the surge of energy tried to eat away at before sputtering out. Morgause paled. "You're bluffing," she said, although it was clear to Merlin that this was more of a  _hope_ than a  _certainty_  for her at this point. "You are running on borrowed time. You won't last long." She smiled, exuding much more sureness than was reflected in her eyes. Beside her, Morgana shifted nervously. She had lured Arthur to the Isle of the Blessed with the intention of having his life taken for Merlin's, and then killing Merlin herself. She hadn't expected Merlin to be able to fight back. "Your only real hope," Morgause continued, "is Morgana and I."

Merlin made a show to swallowing thickly. "God help me."

"Not this time," Morgause hissed, sending a bolt of red light toward Merlin's chest, a streak of raw energy that would have fried him on the spot if he hadn't deflected it in the nick of time. He wasn't nearly as winded after performing the defensive spell and hoped this meant he was getting stronger. Morgause was right, he  _was_ running on borrowed time, but he had a feeling that as long as he was on the Isle, so close to the source of the powerful, age-old magic that also dwelled inside of him, he would gain more strength.

He almost smiled then. Morgause and Morgana had made their fatal mistake. They had brought him here, attempting to bribe him into betraying Arthur and using his closeness to death to their advantage. But what they hadn't thought of –  _he_  had the power of life and death.  _He_  was a creature of the Old Religion, of which the Isle was the oldest known source.  _This_  was  _his_  turf and now  _he_  had the advantage.

After he sent the sisters scurrying away with their metaphorical tails between their legs, though, there was still the matter of his fatal injuries once away from the source of his second wind of magic and life. This was only a temporary fix.

 _Ah well,_  he thought, closing his eyes and summoning as much power as he could,  _I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Now,_  he added, as a familiar group of men darted into his line of sight, ducking behind trees behind the sisters but facing Merlin, who clearly saw the shock on their faces at seeing him standing and alive,  _I've got me a prat to save._

* * *

To say Arthur was surprised to see Merlin on the Isle of the Blessed was an understatement. He was pretty sure the last time he had seen his servant, the too-loyal warlock was lying on a bed in the physician's chambers, dying. Now, not only had he apparently traveled several long miles, but he was standing up, talking, and doing _magic_. Arthur, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Percival watched, eyes wide, as Merlin opened his eyes, which were that brilliant gold color, sending a wave of magic toward Morgause and – his heart clenched at the very real evidence of Morgana's betrayal right in front of him – Morgana. Morgause deflected the blast and sent another Merlin's way, which he shielded himself from.

"Bloody hell," he heard Gwaine mutter incredulously in his left ear. "Does he even  _need_  us?"

Lancelot was nervous. "How did he even get here?" he asked. Arthur assumed the question was rhetorical since none of them even bothered to try and answer. Lancelot sighed. "I don't like this."

Arthur felt eyes on him and he saw his servant look directly at him, his eyes widening slightly. The prince tensed, afraid that Merlin might give them away accidentally, but he regained his composure and closed his eyes. Arthur could see that he was shaking slightly and thought that he might not be as well off as he'd thought.

And then it began – a magical battle, the likes of which Arthur had never seen. Morgause and Morgana slinging spell after spell in Merlin's direction, hissing out dark words that sent chills down Arthur's spine. Merlin retaliated, defending more than attacking, and Arthur could tell that despite all they had done to him, he didn't want to kill them. He figured Merlin's restraint probably had more to do with Morgana than Morgause, or maybe it was just because defensive spells were all he could muster. He  _did_  look pretty exhausted.

"Emrys!" Morgause screeched suddenly, dodging a bolt of energy, "why are you fighting us? Join us, and together, we will take Camelot to new heights! Come, Merlin, you are weakening… I can see it in your eyes. This new strength in you is fading."

She sent an invisible force to strike Merlin, and the warlock, distracted by her speech, didn't put his shield up in time. He flew back several feet and landed on his back, groaning in pain as the jolt agitated his wound.

Anger and fear for his friend overriding his caution, Arthur stepped out, eyes blazing with anger. Merlin gestured futilely to tell him to go back into hiding, gasping for breath, but it was too late. Gwaine was right by his side, sword already drawn. Lancelot and Percival were right behind them, two sets of eyes dark with fury.

Morgana looked surprised, but managed to play her part fairly well. "Arthur," she gasped after a few tense seconds. "Thank God you're here… Morgause, she captured me, and—"

"Forget it, Morgana," Arthur said, trying to ignore the pricks of tears. He couldn't think about her betrayal now, it would only make him weak. "I know. And you – nor anyone else – are never going to hurt Camelot or Merlin again!"

"Arthur," Merlin wheezed, trying to stand up, but it seemed whatever magical "second-wind" he'd gotten was gone, fresh blood seeping through the bandages at his midriff, his eyes going glassy with the pain. "Get out of here. It's too late for me, but you- you are ready, I know, to be the great king—"

Arthur cut what was probably going to be a very wise and touching farewell speech abruptly. "Save it, Merlin. What have I told you about being the hero?"

Merlin half-smiled. "Still think it doesn't suit me?" His breathing was ragged and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his magic to respond now. The pain was too great. He knew he was fading.

Arthur's eyes were wet as he regarded his dying friend. He cleared his throat, staring directly into Merlin's eyes. "Eh," he said, "maybe you're not so bad at it after all."

Merlin chuckled weakly, then his eyes drifted shut and his body went lax, and Arthur knew that his time was up.

Growling in grief and anger, an enraged Prince Arthur and his friends turned on Morgause and Morgana, who turned to fight, but it wouldn't last long.

It was Morgause and Morgana against a furious, grieving prince and three of his future knights - the sisters didn't have a chance.


	24. Chapter 24

_It was Morgause and Morgana against a furious, grieving prince and three of his future knights - the sisters didn't have a chance._

That was what Arthur thought when the anger took control at the thought of Merlin, dead, on the forest floor. Magic or not, he was going to take Morgause down, destroy her, and then… he didn't know what he'd do about Morgana. He still hadn't come to terms with that bit yet. But he'd do something. And they would  _pay_  for Merlin's death. Arthur's eyes stung with tears.

Soon, though, it became clear to Arthur that this battle wasn't going to be as simple as he'd like to believe. Even if he, Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival were consumed by rage and grief, Morgause – and possibly Morgana – still had powerful magic and the battle would not be so easily won. Still, he would fight and prevail or die trying, just like Merlin, the real hero here, had. He swallowed past a lump in his throat and forced himself not to look at the limp form on the ground.

"Come on!" he yelled, his voice a ragged scream. He heard echoing growls of fury emanating from behind him and knew that the others were backing him up fully. They were here on the Isle of the Blessed, Merlin had just been killed, and all hope was lost – but they were going to fight, regardless, and if they went down, they would go down  _fighting_. "Come on!" he spat again, taunting Morgause, who was regarding him with fire in her eyes. "Fight us yourself, if you're such a powerful witch!"

"Sister, can't we just kill them and get it over with?" Morgana asked, and Arthur felt like he was going to throw up.

"Morgana… how  _could_  you?"

"How could I? _How could I?_ " his newly discovered half-sister yelled, her voice filled with hatred and bitterness. "How could  _you_ , Arthur Pendragon? How could you stand by and watch as innocent men, women, and _children_  were brought before  _Uther_  and declared guilty? How could you stand by your father's right side and watch executions, not bothered by them at all? How could you let my people suffer, abandon them, and me? And then you  _accept_  Merlin into your confidence? Would you have done that for me, Arthur, or turned me away like you did so many others? How could  _you?_ "

Morgause listened Morgana's outburst with a thoughtful expression on her face. "Morgana," she said slowly, after the girl's anger had receded somewhat, "I think it best if I send you back to Camelot before somebody misses you there. We cannot allow suspicion on your part, not until the deed is done."

"But you are to kill him!" Morgana protested weakly. "The deed will be done and Camelot will be ours!"

"Patience," Morgause warned, effortlessly blocking Arthur's sword with magic as he tried to use her distraction to his advantage. "This will take time, Morgana, even after the prince's death. True, word of Arthur's demise will bring Uther to his knees, but we still have more to plan. And I can see you are too personally invested in this; for your safety, you should return to Camelot, and I will send for you when he is dead."

"But—"

"Fear not, sister. You have played your part, and you have played it well, but now it is my time to finish the deed. Prince Arthur and his guard dogs are no match for me, especially now that his precious protector is  _dead._ "

Arthur bit back the tears at the reminder.  _Don't look, don't look, don't look…_

He wasn't going to look at Merlin's body. He couldn't. It was too painful. His fault.

Gwaine let out an unearthly yowl and Arthur feared he might jump in and get himself killed straight off, but he contained his anger and grief and stayed put, but Arthur knew without looking that he was trembling.

"I trust your judgment, Morgause," Morgana was saying, "and I will be awaiting your summons." She looked at Arthur, almost sadly, but then the arrogant smirk returned and she nodded. "Be careful, Sister."

"They are no match for me," Morgause repeated, and in a howl of wind and a swirl of black clouds, the witch sent her sister on her way, back to Camelot.

Now it was Morgause against Arthur and three armed men.

And Arthur knew, however much he denied it, that it was he and his friends that didn't stand a chance.

But they would fight regardless. For Merlin.

* * *

Despite the anger and grief pulsing through every one of the men fighting Morgause, Arthur knew it was only a matter of time before they went down. He had gone into the fight with such a rush of adrenaline and confidence – fueled by an all-consuming  _rage_  that Merlin was gone, dead, after all he'd been through, and all Arthur and the others had done to save him. He was so furious at Morgana for betraying them all, at Morgause for starting all of this, at himself for not being able to stop this, and yes, even at Merlin, for dying. How could he leave Arthur now, after everything that had happened? They were on the Isle of the Blessed, so close, and yet it was too late.

The anger had fueled his fighting skills and he had been sure this would be a fight he would win. After all, he had never wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to Morgause right now.

However, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he no longer felt invincible. Instead, as Morgause's attacks became more brutal and it was all he and the others could do to dodge them, he felt himself weakening and knew it wouldn't be long before she overpowered them. Then she would kill him, kill Gwaine and Lancelot and Percival, just like she had Merlin. A great pang of sorrow shot through him. What was the point, he wondered hollowly, of having friend and people you cared about, of trying to defeat the odds and save them, if you were all just going to die, anyway? What was the point of even caring about life, about people, if everything was just going to get washed away? At any moment, everything a person knew could be wiped away, leaving them an empty shell.

Arthur wanted to scream, to demand  _why –_ why Morgause hated them so much, why Morgana had betrayed them all,  _why_ Merlin wouldn't wake up, why all this had happened in the first place. It had all started, Arthur remembered distantly, with a hunt, a hunt that he had only really gone on just to irritate Merlin. Merlin, who had been kidnapped by magical bandits and abused at their hand. Merlin, who had been sold like an animal to an enemy king, his magic enslaved. Merlin, who had saved them all and then taken another man's wounds, a man he barely knew, because that was just the kind of person he was. Merlin, the man that was lying before him, dead, although Arthur, the prince of Camelot, didn't even have enough courage to look at him, to acknowledge the truth of his death. And it was Arthur's fault.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, so quietly that no one, not his friends standing behind him nor the witch across from him, could hear.

He was distracted by his laments and Morgause seized the opportunity. She shot out a deadly spell, drenched in fury and venom, and sent it right for the prince. Arthur didn't have time to duck, to run, to dodge. In any case, he was frozen, his heart and mind refusing to believe what had happened, what was happening at this very moment.

The spell came closer, the fiery power of it nearly singing his skin. He could hear yelling; Lancelot was screaming at him to move. Gwaine was standing next to Merlin's body, tears running down his face, and Arthur could faintly hear him spitting profanities at the witch. Percival stood solemnly, quietly, beside Lancelot, face enraged but uttering not a sound. Arthur knew he should move, but he couldn't. So he didn't.

Right when the fireball was about to take him out, the most unexpected thing happened – it dissipated. In an instant, the harbinger of death sailing right toward Arthur's head was gone, vanished into the air. Morgause's eyes were wide, angry, and confused.

"How did you—?" she squeaked, although Arthur didn't even bother to try and answer her. He had no idea, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

For the first time since Merlin had uttered his last words and gone completely limp, dead, Arthur looked down at the ground where he lay, wondering if Merlin was somehow still alive, if it was  _he_ that was defending them. But his heart and hope were all but wrenched out of him as he saw the young man, not a breath on his lips and his face a ashen gray color, mouth tinged with blue, unmoving. He was dead. No, Merlin couldn't be the one doing this.

He feigned to the right, then jabbed at Morgause at the left. She dodged his sword and said another dark spell, sending it his way. Arthur didn't have time to run, so he ducked – not that he needed it, as it turned out, for the spell, once again, was countered before it could touch the prince.

"What's happening?" he heard Lancelot, voice shaking, murmur in his ear.

"Maybe it's Merlin?" Gwaine muttered without any hope.

"No," Percival replied shortly. "He's… gone."

Arthur didn't dwell on the whys. Instead, he used his newfound defense to his advantage, getting closer to Morgause and dodging her attacks. Some he didn't dodge fast enough, but they dissipated before reaching him, anyway. Arthur felt invincible.

Morgause, it seemed, was beginning to panic. She had realized that for some unknown reason, her magic would not touch any of the men before her. So she turned to the blade instead, pulling a sword out of thin air, but it wasn't magical – it was real enough.

The last time Arthur had fought Morgause, he had hesitated, given her another chance. This time, he wouldn't make that mistake. Now, he knew it didn't matter what gender his opponent was. Girl or not, the enemy was a murderer, a destroyer, and needed to be eliminated. She had  _killed_  Merlin. And now he would kill her.

He didn't even look back, but ordered to his men, "Do not attack. This is  _my_  battle."

"But Arthur," Gwaine almost whined, but his voice was raw from the tears he'd shed over his friend, " _I_  want to kill her."

Morgause snorted. "No one," she said evenly, "will be killing me today."

Arthur shook his head. "You don't get it, do you, Morgause? Fate is on our side today. Maybe destiny is angry that you've destroyed one of its key components." Arthur hated referring to Merlin, his friend, as a 'component' but he kept his voice steady. "Whatever the reason, your magic doesn't work, and even if you  _do_  defeat me, there's still Gwaine, then Lancelot, then Percival. Can you beat us all?"

"The mysterious magic is working to protect  _you_ , Arthur, and by extension, your friends. But once you are dead, it will only take a word to kill them all, as well. Mark my words. After you fall by my sword, your companions will die by my magic."

Arthur's heart burned with rage. He attacked.

They feigned and sliced, stabbed and cut. Arthur nicked her arm and she nearly impaled his shoulder. Soon they were slick with sweat and their hands bloody, but still they fought. Their blades clashed and Arthur used his superior strength to fling the woman away from him. Normally it would be against his code of honor to fight a woman like an equal, but he had learned his lesson. Women were just as deadly and evil as men could be.

She got to her feet and in desperation tried to use magic on him, but it didn't touch Arthur. She swung her blade and it sliced a cut in Arthur's arm. He didn't even flinch at the pain, but instead dove forward, embedding the blade in the woman's heart. Blood pooled around the wound and Morgause gasped, clutching at her breast with a look of pure disbelief on her face. She fell to her knees, then to her side. Arthur thought that maybe he should feel some guilt at what he had done as the light went out of her eyes, but he couldn't muster it. He'd done what he'd had to do. He'd killed Morgause, and saved them all. But that still didn't change the fact that Merlin was gone.

Breathing heavily, he turned away from the dead sorceress and slowly crossed to Merlin's side. Gwaine and Lancelot were already kneeling there, Percival standing behind, head bowed respectfully. Arthur's stomach churned and his heart clenched at the sight of his best friend, dead.

"Merlin," he muttered.

Merlin didn't stir and Arthur choked back a sob. "I don't know what happened back there, Merlin," Arthur went on, "but I know that somehow you had something to do with it. You saved me again, I know it. But… why couldn't you save yourself?"

Gwaine's shoulders were shaking and tears ran down Lancelot's face. "I can't believe it…" the black-haired man sighed.

That's when the rain began to fall.

* * *

It wasn't normal rain, Arthur knew that from the moment it touched Morgause's pale skin and her body began to shimmer before disappearing completely. It was like the Isle was trying to purge itself of any unclean magic, anything that violated what the Old Religion and its place of origin was about. Arthur was relieved to see her go, not only because of what she had done, but also because he felt a bit light-headed, thinking that he had done that to her, although he found he didn't regret it – not at all.

The rain also seemed to refresh and revive him, wash away some of the hurt and devastation. Instead of making him cold and shivery like a spring rain normally did, this warmed Arthur from the inside out, like the embrace of a lover, the handshake of a friend. The rain was vibrant in nature – it was almost alive, it was invigorating, electrifying.

It stopped as suddenly as it started and Arthur shook his head, confused but refreshed. "What was that?" he wondered, but instead of getting an answer, his eyes followed to where Percival's finger pointed through the trees toward the altar that was just visible beyond the foliage. Something shiny and powerful was on top and Arthur ran to it, drawn by its power and strange familiarity.

It was a cup, the finest goblet Arthur had ever seen, and it was filled to the brim with water. Arthur had the strangest feeling that it had rained just enough to fill the cup to the top. Even though he had never seen the cup before, he knew instantly what to do.

Heart pounding with a hope that seemed determined to get in, Arthur took the cup and raced back to the woods, miraculously not spilling a drop of water. When he got to the others, they looked from the prince to the cup questioningly, but Arthur did not spare them a second glance. Instead, he dropped to his knees, pried Merlin's lips open, and poured several drops of water down his throat. When Merlin didn't immediately respond, he held Merlin's nose and forced more of the liquid down.

At first nothing happened, and Arthur thought he might as well die of grief. He had thought he could save his friend, that he had one last chance to make this right… but…

And then he saw it – the receding of the head wound, the blood beginning to disappear around his abdomen. Arthur hardly dared to believe it, but as he watched, any blood or wounds visible outside the bandages began to heal before his very eyes. He heard gasps of shock and relief but didn't look away from Merlin's face. Yes, his injuries were healing, but he still wasn't breathing—

"Aaaah." The breath exploded from Merlin's lips and he sucked the air in hungrily. Arthur's eyes were suspiciously bright and a splash of water – Arthur would later say that it was a raindrop falling from a tree leaf – landed on his cheek. Merlin's tired blue eyes – this time void of pain – glanced down as if trying to see the drop. "Arthur?"

Arthur grinned, his smile incredibly wide.

"Welcome back, idiot."


	25. Epilogue

A week later, Merlin was back at work. His injuries were gone; they had been since he'd drunk out of the cup of life. That in itself had been a mystery to him – the magical defense when he was supposed to be dead (although he could remember nothing of that time at all) and the magical rain pouring into the cup of life after Morgause's death. He'd asked Gaius about it but the old man had been stumped, and beyond relieved that his ward was alive. Merlin had never encountered such a warm embrace.

Finally he'd called the dragon, who didn't seem disturbed at all by what had occurred, even when Merlin reminded him that because Kilgharra had only done the job "halfway", that Merlin had almost died.

The dragon's response? "But you didn't, young warlock, and for that, destiny is smiling upon you."

What the hell did that even mean? Merlin didn't even try to guess, instead opting to ask the dragon about what had happened at the Isle.

"Ah, young warlock, how often you forget how powerful you are."

"I  _know_ I'm powerful," Merlin had responded, but not arrogantly. He was just being honest. "But I was  _dead._ You know, as in  _not living._ "

"And yet you are still here, Merlin."

Merlin frowned. "You know," he said, "you seem to be feeling particularly cryptic today."

The dragon gave a toothy, terrifying grin that Merlin just glared at. It was clear that Kilgharra was enjoying this, but Merlin's patience was coming to an end. He'd been through hell and back and he wanted – needed, even – answers about how he had made it "back," because on the Isle of the Blessed, all had most certainly been lost. Kilgharra was a powerful, ancient, and mystical being. He had provided many answers for the warlock before; Merlin was confident that he had them now and was just being an obnoxious riddle-monger as usual.

Chuckling softly, Kilgharra finally gave in and spoke, his voice ringing with power and confidence that what he said was true. "You survived on the Isle of the Blessed, Merlin, because you are a creature of the Old Religion, and the Isle is the home of the first Magic, the place where the Old Religion was formed at the beginning of time."

Merlin raised his eyebrows, skeptic. "So I'm alive because I have magic?"

"No, young warlock, you are alive because you are  _Emrys_ , the prophesied savior of Camelot, the magical ambassador that will be hailed for centuries as the greatest magician that ever lived, because you are an intricate part of the Old Religion. It is a part of you; there is a bond between you that no other mortal shares with their powers. You aren't just  _magical_ , Merlin, you  _are_  magic itself. And you are too important to the future of magic for the Old Religion to let die."

Merlin, eyes wide, puzzled out what the dragon had revealed. "So after I…" he hesitated, the words sounding strange and disconnected coming out of his mouth, "…died, and Arthur killed Morgause, the Isle took it upon itself to transfer her life to mine?"

Kilgharra dipped his great head. "Yes, Merlin. When your heart stopped beating, the Old Religion was torn at the seams, the ancient magic screaming with agony, because such an intricate part of it was gone. I could feel the despair of the magic inside of me. It was as if magic was mourning for you." Merlin's stomach fluttered and he tried not to show how intimidated he was at learning just how big of an impact he apparently had on the magical community, not to mention, the very fabric of magic itself. The implications were staggering. He had known that he was Emrys and that he was important, but he never would have dreamed that his death would cause this much devastation. Instead of inflating his ego, like this kind of discovery would some people, all Merlin felt was fear and even more pressure on his young shoulders. So many people were counting on him… how was he going to do all he was destined to accomplish?

As if sensing what Merlin was thinking, Kilgharra mused, "Do not think you can handle your responsibilities alone, young warlock. Now that the princeling knows of your magic, you must work  _together_  to overcome the odds and create your destiny. You are like—"

"—two sides of the same coin," Merlin interrupted, weary of Kilgharra's simile. "I think you may have mentioned that one before.

Kilgharra gave a sharp-toothed smile. "You are learning, young warlock. Now you and Prince Arthur must act on your knowledge and act as one force to defeat your foes and restore Albion. Her future is in your hands now, as is the destiny of the magical community. Alone, neither one of you will succeed. Together, failure will not be an option."

Merlin smiled slightly, still reeling from all that had occurred and how well Arthur had taken his magical secret. He had yet to have a proper chat with the prince about his powers, though, as he had just returned to work, but he knew the prince wasn't going to let him put it off much longer. "Yes," he said softly. "I think you may be right."

Kilgharra scoffed, shocked at the implication that Merlin might have thought he was wrong. Then the offended light faded from his eyes, replaced with one of curiosity. "And what of the witch, young warlock? Now that Arthur knows of her treachery and that her sister is gone, what are you doing about her? And what is she doing?"

Merlin's grin vanished as he thought about the woman he used to think of as a friend. She had been more than surprised to see Arthur return to Camelot with a weak but healed Merlin in tow. After Arthur had gotten Merlin settled into Gaius's chambers so he could rest up and regain his strength after his ordeal, Morgana had, from what the prince had told Merlin, confronted him, demanding to know where her sister was. Arthur had simply said,  _Morgause is dead._  Morgana had melted into a fit of rage, one that had, unfortunately from her, included a spectacularly novice yet powerful display of magic in which her emotions caused her magic to lash out. Arthur had barely escaped incapacitation, possibly death.

Morgana had sworn she was going to get revenge on Arthur, on Merlin, for taking her sister away. She had boasted that Arthur couldn't tell his father about her because the king cared for her too much and would never believe it. That was when she turned around to find a devastated King Uther, who had apparently been looking for Arthur and had been standing behind her during most of her mystical display. Tears in his eyes and hands shaking, the king had ordered her to be taken to the dungeon before retreating to his chambers, refusing to emerge for several days.

"…and she's still in the dungeons," Merlin finished telling the dragon, "although I don't know what Uther is planning on doing with her. Now that he's had time to digest what he saw and the fact that she hates him  _and_  has magic, there are rumors that he thinks she's been possessed. If he decides that is the case, he will stop at nothing to find and destroy what did this so he can get his loving ward back."

"If that happens, you must be extra vigilant, young warlock," Kilgharra warned, golden eyes flashing in something akin to concern. "If Uther redoubles his efforts against magic and Morgana gets it into her head to try and implicate you for her betrayal and powers, the Old Religion may be torn again, and this time, I'm not sure even the Isle of the Blessed could save you from execution."

Merlin swallowed heavily. He'd been so caught up in wondering what Uther was going to do with Morgana that he hadn't even considered how dangerous her continued presence in the palace was for him. Now that he thought about it, if she hadn't tried to frame him or tell the king about his magic, she might have a more sinister plot in mind. Then again, he figured she might still be in shock because of her sister's death and maybe she was beginning to see things clearly now that Morgause was gone. Somehow he doubted that was the case, but he could always hope. In any case, Kilgharra was right and he  _did_  need to be wary because if she did decide to act against him, even Arthur would have a hard time bailing him out of trouble.

"I will be careful," he promised, and he meant it.

Kilgharra nodded seriously before tilting his head to one side. "And what of the knights-to-be?" he queried, and Merlin could only assume he meant Lancelot, Percival, and Gwaine.

"Now that everything's settled down, they've left Camelot," he said a bit forlornly. "We wanted them to stay but it's just too dangerous right now, especially with Uther's state of mind after Morgana's betrayal. We're going to have to ride it out and see what happens before they come back for good." He smiled sadly. "But they promised they'll stay near, in case we're ever in need of them again…"

He chuckled. "And I think Gwaine said something about paying a little visit to Rechrad the Renegade Druid, putting the fear of Gwaine into him and getting back the money he got from Morgause for me." His voice shook and he tried to forget the nightmares he'd been having since his ordeal. The dragon had told Arthur shortly after they'd rescued him that Merlin would have a long emotional road to recovery – and although the events at the Isle had sped this healing up considerably, Merlin was still dealing with the paranoia and fears that came with being kidnapped, held hostage, sold, and nearly killed. All in all, though, he felt he was handling the trauma fairly well, especially since he knew Arthur had accepted him for who he was. Finishing his thought about Gwaine, Merlin grinned, "He said something about using the money to buy me some new neckerchiefs because 'lord knows you don't have enough already'."

The dragon chortled briefly before looking at his dragonlord square in the eyes. "You have done well, Merlin, and have overcome great odds and adversities. You have proven a thousand times over who you will be, and I say with the greatest sincerity that I couldn't be more proud."

Merlin's eyes were a bit misty, as the dragon had never spoken to him in such a bluntly kind manner before. "Thank you."

"Do not forget, though, you will not succeed alone. You need—"

"The prat," Merlin cut in, laughing. Then he sobered up, groaning as he remembered what was waiting for him back in Camelot. "Speaking of the duller side of the coin, he's going to be grilling me for the whole story and about my magic as soon as I get back. Do you know how long that'll take?" He sighed. "Maybe I could stay and visit with you for a while longer, Kilgharra?"

Laughing mischievously, the dragon opened his great wings and took to the air. "I believe we've chatted long enough, Merlin. You should return to your destiny before it explodes from curiosity." He flew away, but Merlin knew the great dragon wouldn't be far.

Briefly entertaining the amusing image the dragon had presented, Merlin chuckled contentedly before walking in the direction of Camelot.

Even though he would spend the next two or three hours telling Arthur  _everything_  and being asked countless questions and reliving moments he wished to never think on again, it would also be good, because he and Arthur would understand each other more fully. Their friendship would grow. And their destiny would begin to unfold.

The great dragon was right. With Merlin and Arthur,  _Emrys_  and the Once and Future King working together, Camelot and Albion had yet to see their true potential.

And maybe,  _just maybe_ , things would work out this time, without anyone getting hurt or killed or kidnapped or stabbed. Then again, he mused, somewhat exasperatedly, this  _was_  his life he was thinking about…

Somehow, in his life, things never went perfectly or as planned. However, they usually turned out alright in the end, even if it had been a long road to get there. This time had been no exception, but good had come out of it. Arthur knew and accepted him for who he was, even if he had yet to squeeze every last detail of Merlin's life and time in Camelot out of the young warlock. That was a necessary evil, Merlin supposed, because it was a heck of a lot better than being burt at the stake.

And once Arthur knew everything, perhaps life would be even better. They could do what the dragon said and forge their path as the ones prophesied to bring magic back to Camelot.

Destiny had begun.


End file.
